


The Way Home

by ice_hot_13



Series: "The Way Home" Collection [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 114,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: Suddenly, the rumors are saying that Boba Fett may have survived.(Though part of a collection, this is a standalone work)
Relationships: Boba Fett/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: "The Way Home" Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051688
Comments: 1197
Kudos: 1161
Collections: Jedi Journals, Movies





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to be in this fandom now! I'm quite new so still learning the terminology and timelines, and some liberties were definitely taken with timelines so it deviates a bit! (You can also find me at tumblr as icehot13)  
> Also for clarity, I am using the "Mandalorian/boba fett" tag to indicate a romantic relationship. bounty hunters in LOVEEE

Din did not have Mandalorian blood. He always remembered that, despite his immersion in the culture and his training; he had been brought into the culture later, drawn to what it gave him, what it made him, the purpose he found in the traditions and the legends. Din had become a Mandalorian through his experiences, through the slow crafting of his own story; maybe this was why he was so fascinated by all the legends, because they felt like part of him, because this was what _made_ him, each a piece of the past he’d woven for himself in the absence of his own. He did not have Mandalorian blood, but he had Mandalorian history, handed to him through the legends, the traditions, the way.

Maybe that was the root of his fascination with Boba Fett. A Mandalorian by blood, the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, so far diverted from their path that he’d become something else entirely. A Mandalorian legend in his own right, but one broken away from their shared history.

Din heard about him constantly, right up until maybe a year ago, when the stories began to end with a rumor: _I heard he was killed._ It took a while for the details to surface, and they felt wrong, somehow. Boba Fett, the _legend,_ felled almost by accident? Doomed because of a damaged jet pack? Din felt somehow betrayed, like something bigger than them was trying to make a pedantic point: that this was what happened to those who strayed from the path of the Mandalorians. Boba Fett died an afterthought of a death, because of what he’d chosen. It had sent Din into a spiral of wondering whether there were enough differences between them.

One day, the rumors suddenly changed. _I heard he survived,_ Din heard, halfway out the door with his next puck in his pocket, his thoughts already in orbit above Nevarro. He stopped. Turned.

When Din asked, the other bounty hunter said he hadn’t heard much more than that, couldn’t seem to trace the rumor to any credible source beyond having heard it on Tattooine, unsurprisingly. He’d just come from there, and someone on that planet was swearing they’d just seen the bounty hunter in the desert, that he wasn’t a mirage, that he was _there._

“Isn’t that where he died?” someone else asked, as if they didn’t all know, as if they hadn’t all felt like they were _there_ from the stories _._ Boba wasn’t even in the Guild, hadn’t had much respect for it, but legends didn’t die even when crossing union lines. It was perverse, that their greatest legend didn’t care for their organization, but maybe that said more about their attitudes towards the Guild than Boba’s.

Din wasn’t going to go to Tattooine. There was no point in chasing down the source of rumors, but his decision wasn’t because he was above curiosity. He knew better; he went back to Karga, and slid back into the booth. He wouldn’t find Boba on Tattooine.

“What’s the biggest bounty out there right now?” he asked, and Karga arched an eyebrow.

“What I gave you will keep you plenty busy, Mando.”

“Not just Guild work,” Din clarified, although Karga was fooling himself if he thought Din had any interest in his original plan now. “You hear about it all, don’t you? I thought you had connections everywhere. I want to know what to look out for. I’ve been hearing things.”

“Are you that determined to work outside the guild?” Karga laughed. “Or did you suddenly become interested in gossip? I could humor you,” he said, and paused expectantly. Din sighed. Slid one of the coins he’d just been given back across the table. Karga looked entirely too amused.

“If I had to guess, the biggest fool’s errand out there is on Mustafar. Supposedly, an Imperial admiral has holed up there, and another admiral wants him dead before he can be brought to the New Republic. Of course, killing him would be an intergalactic felony, and I doubt the Empire would let you live afterwards.” Karga shook his head, “it’s not confirmed, just a rumor. Hopefully no one would be that stupid. I’m sure the New Republic will find the both of them any day now, anyways. I’m sure no one would actually do it.”

Maybe one bounty hunter, Din thought. Maybe one who wanted to come back stronger, who thought his previous standing with the Empire would protect him, who needed to be a legend once again.

Maybe two, because Din was going to find him.


	2. Chapter 2

Mustafar was smoky, and so violently red that Din almost thought there was something wrong with his visor. It was like the sky during a wildfire, but _everywhere,_ coal and smoke and _red._ It seemed impossible that anything could survive here; even walking away from the ship, rocks crumbled beneath his feet, and lava snaked up from the rivers, waiting for a misstep, the air heavy with heat.

Surely Boba wasn’t this blindly stubborn. Surely Din wasn’t, either. If the admiral was here, the New Republic knew about it, and was coming any minute to capture him, with guns and ships and soldiers, and more firepower than any one bounty hunter could carry. Even a legendary one. To say nothing of helping the Empire, because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

But Boba had been the best, and there was something about being the best that Din knew wouldn’t reconcile with the way he’d died, or supposedly died, and Din didn’t even know for certain that Boba _wasn’t_ dead, but – if he’d survived, as a legend would have, he wouldn’t have stood for a death like that. It hadn’t been a warrior’s death, and Din had been there before – so close to dying, but the thought that had brought him back to his feet, kept him staggering on, had been the enraged insistence that he wouldn’t die _like this._

If Boba was anywhere, he was here, and so Din pressed on, making his way towards the largest structure. It rose up taller and taller as he approached, and he diverted away from it as he neared, searching for a less conspicuous way in. Not that he wanted to _go_ in; he had no interest in dying here, on a fool’s errand he couldn’t explain, looking for a bounty hunter Din only knew by his wake.

The silence was so heavy, Din was sure no living soul could have been there in decades. Heavy layers of dust had settled on surfaces, the hallway littered with crumbling rock from the walls, more than one collapsed corridor. No one could be here, he thought, but didn’t that practically guarantee that someone was? He crept down hallways, wedged open nonfunctioning doors so he could slip through, blaster held in front of him as he sought any kind of movement, any sound, and found nothing.

Silence.

Empty corridors.

A control room with a view of lava and black rock.

Storage rooms with dark corners.

A layer of sooty dust blanketed everything Din passed, and he still saw no signs of occupancy. It wasn’t until he’d crossed nearly the entire compound when he saw the first sign – a pried-open door leading out of the compound, the dust disturbed by footprints. There hadn’t been anywhere to hide a ship on this side of the compound, but maybe Boba hadn’t needed to worry about that. _If he’d come here,_ Din kept having to remind himself. _If he wasn’t dead._ Boba’s body could still be in the Sarlacc pit.

Someone had forced their way in through here, though, and Din followed their path through the hallways, further and further down. Here, he saw what they must have seen first: signs of inhabitation. The compound continued underground, and it probably would have been laden with security, before, but he was coming upon it post-destruction. A camera fallen to the ground. A security droid lying on its side, and then three more. Someone had come through here, towards the smell of lava and signs of life. Someone had made it quite far, leaving a trail of quietly destroyed droids and security cameras and scanners. Din wanted to turn back, but how could he resist the pull downward? There was no one here, he _knew_ that, the silence deafening in its absoluteness, but someone had _been_ here.

The path opened onto a large cave, so overtaken by lava and rock that it felt claustrophobic, lava trickling down the walls and swallowing up nearly half the ground before it dropped away into a pit. Tunnels branched off from across the cave, surely leading to the rest of the underground network. Someone had been here, someone had fought here; there were piles of droids and at least ten soldiers’ bodies, a mounted gun pointing at the mouth of the ramp, scorch marks on the walls and shattered rock. When Din turned back, from this angle, he could see a secondary tunnel built into the wall, nearly caved in, as though someone had been shooting at someone running to it in escape.

Had Boba _done_ it? The cavern showed evidence of a remarkable fight, after all, and there wasn’t a living soul around. Maybe the reason Din hadn’t seen a ship was because Boba had already left with his bounty. The fool’s errand, the threat of the New Republic coming for him, facing the Empire head-on and daring them to let him walk away alive, voluntarily helping the Empire to serve only himself first – Boba was a legend, and Din felt a muddled swell of pride at the thought. Sure, Boba had chosen to depart from the way, but there was something legendary about him – not in the stories, in the bounties, in the danger he’d stared down, but in the departure. He was a by-blood Mandalorian, and the idea of someone seeing their own path so clearly they’d charge at it headlong the way Boba Fett had, Din felt his own lost drifting pale in comparison. Boba had defined _Mandalorian_ for himself, while Din was still trying to figure out what it meant to him.

Din turned to leave; he was eager to hear the trickle-down of rumors this battleground had produced. Would the New Republic go after Boba? Would the remains of the Empire? Before he could take another step, a small movement caught his eye, and he whipped back around, blaster held aloft. 

At first, it wasn’t much. Lava spat up from the pit, shaken by low tremors underground; this was a planet of frequent, small earthquakes, Din knew that. It was the reason for all the splits in the earth, and how the lava had space to surge up to the surface. The side of the pit crumbled more in response to the shaking, but the movement had jarred something else. A crumpled heap of something that slid closer to the edge of the pit when the ground moved beneath it, and now lay motionless.

Din knew what it was. The sinking drop of his stomach told him everything, even before he’d crossed the cave and dropped to his knees beside the body to identify it. He recognized the helmet. Most of the galaxy would have, too.

Boba Fett was supposed to have been a legend. It was a suicidal bounty, but he was a _legend,_ and seeing him here, beaten, _broken,_ it shattered something in Din’s chest. It was like the sky had dissolved, like the stars were falling, careening downward endlessly in a fiery ruin. He stood beneath the hail of ruin, lost.

“Hey,” he reached tentatively to nudge the battered gold shoulder plate with the end of his blaster. How long had Boba been here? Was he already dead? Was this the death he would have wanted?

Boba _moved._ Din nearly jerked backwards in surprise. Alive. Not very, but enough to take a shuddering, shallow breath. Din’s heart raced at the knowledge – _now what?_

The planet answered his question for him, by giving a violent shake that nearly threw him to the ground and sent Boba’s limp body sliding down the slope further as the rock beneath them cracked and began to split.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Din said, although this seemed like an obvious conclusion. His pulse was racing, as though he was being shot at from all sides and fighting his way to escape, like the ground was falling out from beneath him. Not at all like he was in a nearly empty cave, experiencing a small and non-disastrous earthquake, without an enemy in sight. Just him and Boba Fett.

Din reached to flip Boba onto his back but paused before touching him; it felt almost like breaking something, making him real in exactly the wrong moment. Din clenched his jaw and pushed as gently as he could at Boba’s shoulder, was met with no resistance but a particularly sharp and choked inhale. “You’ll be fine,” Din said, but he didn’t know that, of course he didn’t. “I’m taking you back to my ship, and you’ll be fine. You’ll live.” He felt fingers try to close around his wrist, Boba’s gloved fingertips sliding across his gauntlet listlessly.

“Don’t need,” Boba finally spoke, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible. Din was struck for a moment by the absurdity of it – Boba didn’t _need_ him? Pretty rich, considering that if Din hadn’t had the inexplicable impulse to chase him down, Boba would have died here, and no one would have ever known for sure that he’d made it out of the Sarlacc pit at all. He’d have died in yet another pit, for yet another pointless reason, still nothing befitting what he was.

“Just shut up,” Din shook his head and resumed his task, pulling Boba up and into his side so Din could prop him up. It wasn’t a very successful plan; Boba crumpled almost immediately, and from how quickly he felt like dead weight, Din would guess that he was drifting in and out of consciousness. “Stay with me, here,” Din said, although it didn’t make much of a difference. He shifted to instead settle Boba’s limp body over one shoulder, hoping his injuries weren’t exacerbated by the jostling. At the very least, Boba wasn’t groaning in pain, and had gone fully limp, dangling arms bumping against Din’s back, boots giving small jangles from their spurred attachments as Din walked. How many people had heard that sound before they were captured, before they died? It echoed faintly in the empty corridors now, as Din carried Boba’s nearly lifeless body over his shoulder.

“What the hell were you doing here, anyways,” Din grumbled, mostly to himself, as he retraced his steps out of the cave, blaster drawn just in case, although he was pretty sure he now had the whole picture: Boba had come here and been left for dead, the admiral more interested in taking his opportunity to escape, Boba succumbing to the remainders of the admiral’s army underground in a dead end. “You didn’t even accomplish anything.” The corridors were just as empty on the way out as they’d been on the way in; Din tried to check on Boba occasionally, but he elicited only soft groans and pained exhales.

There was something defeating in it, carrying a legendary Mandalorian from a burning cave where he’d lost a pointless battle, dragging him back from the edge of a needless death, the limping along of a story that should have ended twice already. Din felt unduly weary as he finally neared the Crest, exhausted as though he’d fought for his life. The sun hadn’t even set yet.

“Come on, nearly there.” Din hoisted Boba back up his shoulder. Boba gave a small gasp and shudder. “Sorry,” Din mumbled. He heard nothing else from Boba the rest of the walk, not even when he boarded the ship and brought Boba inside. Din opened the doors beside the weaponry locker with a bump of his elbow, revealing the space just wide enough for his bed, and shifted Boba down onto it. He did his best to prop Boba against the side wall, Boba’s helmet tilting against the corner. Din needed to move along and get the medical equipment, but found himself stopped for a moment, staring. Boba looked damaged and battered, his armor dented and clothing torn, and a gauntlet so severely bent that his bone couldn’t be in one piece beneath it. He was big, probably a little taller than Din although maybe less broad, but he looked so much smaller now, crumpled and dragged through the dirt and smoke and blood.

Din forced himself to leave to retrieve the supplies from the cabinet; he wasn’t even going to take off before dealing with Boba, the planet so utterly deserted that he’d be surprised if anything living was within fifty miles of them. He set his supplies down – bacta spray, a handful of bandages and wraps, hopefully all he was going to need – and stopped yet again.

“I need to take your armor off,” he said, swallowed. “Your helmet.” Boba shook his head only very slightly.

“I don’t care,” he rasped out. Maybe he really wasn’t a Mandalorian, not like Din was; it still felt wrong, reaching for the latch, fingers sliding it open. It came apart too loosely; maybe it had broken in battle. Had his enemies seen his face? Did he care?

“Are you sure?” His hands hovered with the helmet between them. Boba didn’t respond, and if it were Din, he knew what he’d want. He’d want to die his warrior’s death, keep his creed until the very end, die honourable and as himself. Boba wasn’t him, though, maybe wasn’t defined by the same things Din was, and so Din lifted the helmet.

If he didn’t know Boba was still alive, Din would think it was already too late. Boba’s hair was matted with blood at the back, the neck of his shirt deeply reddened. There were cuts on his jaw and a gash by his eye seemed to have bled for a long time, rivulets of blood dried on his skin. It looked like he’d been without his helmet for some time, in the midst of the fighting. There was a gash at the back of his neck from an attack that must have broken his helmet latch at the same time. When Din touched his fingertips to the edges of a cut, Boba opened his eyes, watched him listlessly. Brown eyes, lighter than Din’s. It felt like seeing far too much of him, and Din was relieved when Boba closed his eyes again.

“How long were you there?” Din asked, already moving to grab the spray and bandages. Boba’s mouth quirked down slightly.

“Days,” he grunted, eyes still closed. Even the one word gave Din enough of a look at his mouth to reveal a few broken teeth, the blood on his lips.

More armor came off, revealing his snapped forearm, broken ribs that made Din feel guilty for putting Boba over his shoulder, and a blueish tinge to his skin that made Din suspect a collapsed lung. He did what he could with the spray and did his best to set the bone, and by the time he’d made his way to the less severe of the gashes, the head wound had closed up just enough that he felt himself breathe a little easier. Din left him long enough to head to the cockpit and take the ship off the surface of the planet, program in a course for Nevarro.

Even with the ship on autopilot, Din stayed in his seat for a long moment, staring into the vast emptiness on the screen before him. What came next, after this? He knew where he could go for medical treatment on Nevarro, but what then? Did Boba just return to whatever life he’d been living before taking the bounty, or even before the Sarlacc pit? How long ago had he escaped Tattooine, anyways? Had he clawed his way out of the pit and dove straight into this?

Overwhelmed by the unanswered questions, Din climbed back down the ladder, returning to the open compartment. Boba still sat slumped where Din had left him; at least now, Din would classify him as asleep and not knocked unconscious. The difference felt significant.

With some of the smaller wounds healed over, Din took the opportunity to take a damp towel and start to wipe away some of the blood on Boba’s face. How many people had seen his face? He didn’t seem to have cared much when Din removed his helmet; maybe Boba took it off as normal. He looked only slightly older than Din, and had to be closer to forty than forty-five. His hair was brown, once some of the blood came away, and there was stubble on his jaw, uneven. Boba had freckles on his nose, beneath all the spattered blood, and the sight made Din feel hazy. Boba Fett, legendary bounty hunter, unstoppable, undefeated – here he was, asleep and battered, with freckles on the bridge of his nose. It felt like Din was seeing something he shouldn’t have been allowed to see.

Din moved from cleaning Boba’s face, unable to look at him so closely anymore. As Din wiped the worst of the blood from his skin, he didn’t find Boba’s mythosaur crest, the one that would have matched the pendant he wore on his own neck. Maybe he’d lost that along the way, too, maybe it didn’t mean anything to him anymore.

Boba tried to shift in his sleep, gave a groan and attempted to curl into himself. The broken ribs, probably. Maybe the collapsed lung, although the hypospray Din had given him was keeping a full collapse at bay. “Come on,” Din said, reached to put an arm around Boba’s back and lift him enough to lay him fully back. “Just sleep,” Din said, and Boba said nothing, although his deep exhale once his head was on the pillow made something in Din twist.

He left Boba to sleep, returned to the cockpit to give himself the illusion of something to do. His only actual task was one he was reluctant to face, but it was better than sitting in silence and thinking about the bounty hunter below deck, so he recorded his message for Karga.

“I need a medical droid,” he started, but hit the button to erase that. He still couldn’t bring himself to use a droid, despite the need for discretion. He wanted to go anywhere else, but he didn’t know how recognized Boba would be, had no idea if people knew his face. Did Karga? Din didn’t trust him, so why was he bringing this bizarre and unknowable secret to him? Din didn’t even know what he had, he shouldn’t start by sharing it. He had to know for sure that the Empire wasn’t coming after Boba before letting anyone know they were in the same ship.

There was another option, and he’d have to take that instead. Din sighed, slouched down in his seat and reached for the button that locked the doors before he took off his own helmet. Something about wearing it had suddenly felt wrong, knowing there was an unmasked Mandalorian practically in arm’s reach of him. He’d never felt _guilt_ about refusing to show his face. It was just what he did, what was expected of him. Knowing Boba’s helmet was sitting on a shelf, knowing Boba lay in his bed with his face bare, it brought up an uneasy ache in Din’s chest, an unbalance hovering in the air between them.

Boba wasn’t like Din, and Din didn’t even know _why._ He’d always seen Boba’s departure from their traditions as the forging of a new path built on the foundation of the old one, but maybe it had been more than that. The whole galaxy knew Boba Fett’s name, and as a Mandalorian who hadn’t spoken his own name in decades, Din didn’t know how they could have ever started from the same place at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Boba slept until they reached Nevarro; Din knew, because he kept venturing below deck to look in on him, leaning around the corner until he could see into the compartment. Each time, Boba lay motionless, and Din had to squint through the darkness to make sure Boba’s chest still rose and fell with his breaths. One of the multitude of rumors surrounding the galaxy’s greatest bounty hunter was that he only slept while in hyperspace, and Din was sure it couldn’t be true, probably. It was unrealistic at best, but he thought he just might believe it – even now, even now that they were out of hyperdrive and nearing Nevarro, and Din stood there watching Boba sleep, right there in his own bed. It still felt true, somehow, like this was just an odd, fever dream of a departure from reality where the bounty hunter would never sleep somewhere as unguarded as this.

Din wasn’t entirely confident in his plan, even as he allowed their descent towards Nevarro to continue. The bacta spray had done its job, patching Boba together enough that he would be able to walk and breathe, but the need for true medical attention was undeniable. Din neared the bed, gaze landing on Boba’s helmet, sitting at the foot of the bed. Din had fixed the broken latch; it seemed important that he be able to wear his helmet again.

“Hey,” Din said in the direction of the motionless body. Boba jerked, sat up with a groan. Even in the dark of the compartment, he still looked unsteady. “Let’s go. You need a real doctor.”

“Who _are –”_ Boba started, but the words were swallowed up by a shallow, incessant cough.

“Get ready,” Din said, left for the cockpit again. He called in through the radio, piloted his landing, returned below decks. Boba had put his armor back on, sitting on the end of the bed with his shoulder against the wall. He muttered something that sounded like “get this over with” as Din passed him, and Din had to constantly stop himself from looking back to check on him as they left the ship. Maybe Boba did care about being seen without his helmet, because he’d put it back on, although Din’s main concern was anonymity. He’d landed in the dead of night for that reason, and led Boba on as deserted a path as he could. Boba asked no questions, didn’t seem to have the strength to try and escape. Din wondered if Boba had figured out where they were going, if he would be anxious if he did know. Din himself was; he knew that his fascination with Boba wasn’t shared by other Mandalorians.

He didn’t have to check if Boba was following him; there was that sound, the quiet jangle of spurs, with every step Boba took. It had meant something, the harbinger of death and capture, and Din half wondered why Boba would so deliberately pass up the chance for stealth, but he knew what had overridden that: _you know who I am,_ that sound said, _it doesn’t matter that you can hear me coming._

Din led Boba underground to the covert’s tunnels, and Boba showed no sign of recognition as he followed, their footsteps echoing off the damp walls. It was too late at night for anyone to be around, those he could hear moving around safely ensconced in rooms and down other hallways. Before long, Din could hear the crackle of flames; maybe the Armorer never slept. She didn’t seem surprised when Din entered, only briefly turning from her workbench just as he entered the room, Boba trailing several paces behind.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said. Din glanced over his shoulder; Boba had leaned against the doorway, breathing shallowly, and when he lifted his head and saw the Armorer, he pushed himself off the doorway to stand as well as he could.

“I needed help but couldn’t risk anyone finding out,” Din said, and she turned to look at him. He saw it, the moment she noticed Boba; her head tilted back and her shoulders set. Maybe it was best that they couldn’t see her face.

“Why have you brought this –” she started, and it was the closest Din had ever heard her get to becoming angry, her voice taut and narrow. She tamped it down almost immediately, though. “What is it you seek?”

“He needs a doctor, and I don’t think anyone should know he’s alive. It would put us both in danger.” It felt important beyond just that, though, although Din wasn’t sure exactly why. Because Boba had gone after the admiral? Because he’d failed?

“I didn’t realize he was alive,” the Armorer said. “I am surprised he would accept help from us, or think he deserved to receive it.” Din wanted to look backwards but couldn’t manage it; he felt something like guilt, talking about Boba like he wasn’t in the room with them. He may as well not have been, for how silent he was.

“He’s still a –” Din tried, but the Armorer cut him off.

“He is not.” And Din knew she was traditional, how highly she valued their culture, but – but Boba was a Mandalorian, too, by _blood_. Maybe he’d strayed from the way, maybe he’d been driven away from it, but it lived within him. “But you are,” she said to Din, “and if this is what you want, I can help you.”

She beckoned them forward with a small tilt of her head, passing by Boba as though he didn’t exist in her doorway, and led them down the passageway, through several turns Din had never taken before. She left them briefly in the hallway, where the only sounds were dripping water and Boba’s labored breathing. Din wanted to ask if he was okay, but that was a stupid question – he was obviously still injured, and was hardly going to share his feelings about encountering the Mandalorians.

When the Armorer returned, she brought them into the next room. Din couldn’t see the face of the Mandalorian waiting to receive them, but from the tilt of his head and crossed arms, Din would bet he was sneering.

“Look who’s come crawling back,” the doctor said, “if you could even call it that.”

“Enough,” the Armorer said. “I’ve agreed to help, so we will help.” The doctor shook his head, but pointed to a cot in the corner. Boba sank onto it slowly, like he was trying not to fully collapse. 

“Come with me,” the Armorer said to Din, and Din felt absurdly reluctant to leave Boba alone with the doctor. This was his – something, the once-legend he’d dragged in, broken and bloody, and Din wanted to tell Boba that – that Din knew what he was, even if they didn’t.

“Boba Fett,” the doctor scoffed, opening a cabinet, removing instruments with sharp clangs. “Our greatest shame.”

“Don’t –” Din started to warn, but – what was he going to insist, that they stop sneering at Boba like that? He turned sharply on his heel and followed the Armorer out the door. She returned to her work and he sat on a bench beside the wall, watching without seeing much.

“I know everything he’s done,” Din said, and the rhythmic clangs paused only momentarily, “but didn’t he have his reasons to work for the Empire?” Wouldn’t he have? Why else would he help those who had destroyed his people?

“He is not one of us,” was all she said, before going back to her work. Din sighed, tilted his head back against the wall.

He slept in small bursts, continually jerking awake as if Boba might slip past him if he slept for too long. Several hours passed before the doors slid open again, and the doctor appeared, Boba behind him. 

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor directed this at Din, “providing you get him out of here quickly. I doubt anyone else will take kindly to seeing him in the covert. He doesn’t belong here.”

“I haven’t done anything.” The snarl from Boba took Din by surprise, the first time Boba had spoken since they arrived at the covert. “Not to any of you.”

“Listen, traitor,” the doctor whipped around to face Boba, a hand shooting out to catch him by the throat, “if you think I won’t undo all the work I just did, you’re mistaken. How _dare_ you wear our armor as if you come from our tradition! All you come from is disgrace.”

Boba lunged, albeit not hard enough to knock the doctor off his feet, and was swiftly interrupted by Din jumping in to sweep him away, one hard pull all it took to yank Boba off of the other Mandalorian.

“Thank you,” Din said, pulling Boba’s wrists behind his back to restrain him; he reflexively loosened his grip when he remembered the recently-broken arm. Boba’s knees buckled slightly, but he made no sounds. “For healing him. I appreciate it. I found him, so I felt – responsible. He was in my care.”

“I understand,” the Armorer said, almost pityingly. The doctor scoffed. Din didn’t know which reaction he preferred.

Din led Boba away, releasing his wrists as soon as they’d reached the stairs. Boba yanked free anyways and trudged along ahead of him like a captured bounty, until they reached the bright sunlight above. They managed to avoid running into anyone on the walk back to the ship, at least until they reached the bay and found Karga waiting for them.

“Mando! I heard your ship landed and I –” he started, trailing off. “Well,” he said, as they came to a stop before him, “when I heard someone had gone to Mustafar, I’d assumed it was _you_ , Mando, and I had to see your ship for myself, I was so sure you were dead. Is he the one who actually took the bounty?” he asked, nodding towards Boba. 

“What’d you hear about it?” Boba spoke up, voice sharper than the situation seemed to call for; maybe he was tired of people talking about him instead of to him. Din stepped up beside him. Boba really was taller, just barely.

“That some foolish bounty hunter died on Mustafar,” Karga said. There was no love lost between Boba and the Guild; Din never bothered counting how many times Boba had ruined contracts, stolen bounties, tried to undercut them. “What’s going on, Mando? The New Republic knows someone took the bounty, and if they find out the bounty hunter who drove the admiral into hiding elsewhere is still alive –”

“I’m alive,” Din said sharply. “And I still have a job to finish. I’ll be back.” He swept past Karga, lowered the ramp of the ship and, once at the top of the ramp, turned back to see Boba still standing there, watching him. “Well?” Din barked, just to see what would happen, and to his surprise, Boba came up the ramp, ducking into the ship as the ramp closed behind him.

For lack of anything better to do, Din programmed in his original course to the ice planet his puck directed him to, and as they took off, he heard the door slide open. Boba came to sit in the other seat in the back of the cockpit. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Din. Hours passed; Boba left the cockpit occasionally, as did Din, but both inevitably ended back there, in the silence with all the stars spread out on the screen ahead of them.

When Din was nearly nodding off in his seat, Boba finally spoke. “Who _are_ you?” he asked, like even the question frustrated him. Din wasn’t going to tell him; no one knew his name anymore, it was just his now, and _Mando_ would be just find for Boba’s purposes, but then Boba reached up and unlatched his own helmet, lifted it off. In the dimmed cockpit lights, Din finally got his first good look at Boba’s face, without blood or gashes or broken teeth, and he hadn’t been expecting to see such resigned defeat there.

“Din,” he heard himself say, like the name was pulled from him, lured out to become even a tiny piece of a legend. Years without saying it, without hearing it, _years –_ the ability to make Din say it anyway suddenly felt like Boba’s most dangerous quality.

Din turned forward again, shifted slightly so he could just see Boba in his peripheral vision. Boba sat with his helmet in his lap, head back against the wall. He looked so incredibly tired, like he was still in the desert, trying to find his way out. He’d been so _angry,_ at the covert, and it seemed to have drained all the fight from him.

“Why were you there?” Boba asked. Despite the healed lung, his voice was still hoarse; maybe that was just how it sounded. Without the helmet distorting it, it was raspier. “Did you know I was there?”

“I’d guessed.”

“What did you go there to do?”

“What about you?” Din asked, because he wasn’t going to admit _I was looking for you._ “Why were _you_ there? You had to have known it was impossible. Did you really think you could do it? And even then, what if you did? Did you think the Empire wouldn’t kill you for it? You can’t possibly think you were important enough to them for them to let you live after that.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Boba’s gloved fingertip traced over the dent in the top of his helmet.

“What else to do? How about _not_ taking the biggest, most idiotic bounty in the parsec? How about literally anything else?” When he finally did turn, there was a smoldering anger on Boba’s face. 

“I have nothing,” he said, sharp-edged and flat, “and am nothing, other than my greatest bounty.” He stood abruptly, put his helmet back on. “You should get some sleep,” he said, “I was in your bed all night, so. I’m sure you didn’t sleep well.” It took a moment to process the words, disorienting as they were when spoken so harshly. He stood there looking at Din expectantly until Din rose to descend the ladder.

“What about you?”

“All I’ve done is sleep,” Boba said, although he looked like he could use quite a bit more. “I’m fine.”

Din slept only fitfully for a few hours. The fourth time he woke, he crept out of his quarters and up the ladder to the cockpit. Inside, he found that Boba had fallen asleep in Din’s chair. Right now, it looked true, that Boba would only sleep while in hyperspace. Hurtling through the galaxy, the only time when nothing could catch him – maybe that was his real armor.


	4. Chapter 4

Din was nearly out of sight of the Razor Crest when he stopped to wonder if he should leave it at all. He’d suited up for his next bounty and departed as normal, but things could hardly be considered normal when he was leaving Boba Fett alone on his ship. Din turned to look at his ship again, his boots crunching the hard snow that had frozen to the ice. The ship still stood on the ice, right where he’d left it.

Would Boba _steal_ it? Din had just _left,_ and he knew what he felt was just a false recognition, because Boba wasn’t actually one of the Mandalorians he could trust. Din knew he was just seeing the armor and feeling recognition that wasn’t really there, and yet here he was, walking away anyways.

The bounty was an effortless one. He walked into a cantina, threw his weight around, and left with his new charge, who was so terrified of what lived beneath the ice that he looked outright relieved to be boarding the Crest. It was still where Din had left it, and somehow, he felt both shocked and completely unsurprised.

“Up,” Din commanded, pointing to the cockpit ladder, and the Mythrol obeyed, somehow still talking. It felt like he’d been talking ever since Din walked into the cantina, and Din had a headache.

“Honestly, I’m good for it,” the Mythrol was saying, again, “whatever they’re paying you, I can triple that. You could really treat yourself to some ship upgrades, or hey, what about a maintenance droid? That would –” his voice trailed off as he got to the top of the ladder, his steps stumbling. When Din joined him in the cockpit, he found the Mythrol staring at Boba, who stood from the passenger seat. Inexplicably, a smug expression crossed the Mythrol’s face, and Din sighed. “Did they send _you_ to come get me?” the Mythrol asked Boba. “Am I that big of a bounty?” His chest puffed out with pride. Din wanted to toss him back down the ladder.

“Just sit down,” he pointed to the seat Boba had vacated. “And no.”

“Then what’s he doing here?”

“Shut up.” Din didn’t turn from the control panel, beginning the ascent and programming in his course. The Mythrol took this as an invitation to address Boba, instead.

“Did _you_ capture _him?”_ he asked Boba, which Din found to be rather insulting, “I thought you were dead!”

Din heaved another sigh. What if the Mythrol told someone that he’d seen Boba, on the Crest, in the company of another Mandalorian? How long would it take for Din to be found? He looked over his shoulder at Boba, but before speaking, changed his mind slightly. “What if he tells someone he saw you?” he asked, not in Basic, but Mando’a. No sense telling the Mythrol he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. Boba did little more than grunt in response, and left the cockpit.

“Friendly guy,” the Mythrol contributed. He was mercifully silent for a while, but once they were farther along, started getting chatty again. Din was relieved when he left to seek out the fresher; letting the Mythrol wander through the ship was worth the silence, and Din let himself enjoy it for a while before going after him.

Of course, it ended with the Mythrol encased in carbonite, and Boba came to join him in watching the process, scoffing. “I’d never bother with his bounty,” he said, leaned in to study the equipment. “This is more portable now.”

“It’s convenient. And now he definitely won’t talk.”

“I’m sure someone’s already talking.” He was probably right, but Din felt nervous at the still-invisible repercussions.

Returning the tracker was as irritating as he’d known it would be. Karga accepted the tracker, haggled with the price, and then inevitably started asking questions. “So where is Fett? Is he still with you?”

“No.” Din wondered, sometimes, if he would be as good a liar without a mask. It helped that no one could see his face.

“Really? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. Told him to get his own ride. Do you have any new pucks or not?”

“Is he going after the admiral again?” Karga asked, and it suddenly made Din wonder. _Did_ Boba still want to go after the admiral? Was he just waiting for his opportunity to do so? Was he now actually going to steal the Crest and leave to continue his hunt?

“Do you have anything?” Din asked instead, and of course Karga didn’t, of course Din had to take the puckless bounty he offered instead. The only way to go was forward, and it felt like the only thing he could do, keep accepting whatever was laid down before him. Boba still on his ship, an underworld bounty commission, an unknown danger waiting to decide who it was looking for.

Everything was vague. The Client, the Asset, only the last digits of a chain code, a last known location. The storm troopers flanking the Client’s desk made Din stop, but not out of fear. He could easily shoot his way out of here, he knew that, but looking at them – of course he knew who Boba had previously worked for, that he’d surely encountered Storm Troopers while working for Vader. And before these soldiers, back when they were all clones, they _were_ Boba, in a way. A stolen version of him, a parallel universe that played out right in front of him, and Din wondered how Boba could stand to look at any Storm Trooper, knowing that. Slightly different luck, and he wouldn’t have been himself, not in the same way.

“I’ll be back,” Din said to the Client, snatched the offered Beskar steel and strode back out of the building. Part of him itched to return to the Crest, just to see if it was still there, but he resisted the impulse. If Boba had stolen it, well, he’d have already done it by now. Instead, Din continued to the covert, although the dread of going without Boba nearly matched the unease he’d felt bringing him.

This time, when he entered, the Armorer turned immediately, and looked past him to the hallway. “Just you, this time?” she asked. Din nodded, took a seat on the bench.

“Thank you for treating him.” He fingered the Beskar in his hands, slid it across the table to the Armorer. “I understand your hesitation.”

“This was taken in the Great Purge,” she said, “one of many things taken from us by the Empire.” Din understood her implication, and remained silent. He should turn Boba away, shouldn’t be _helping_ him. He’d worked for the Empire, and how was that anything but a betrayal? The Mandalorians in the covert called Din a coward for sitting at the same table with Imperials, and what would they think of him now helping the Empire’s greatest bounty hunter? If Boba didn’t belong to them, if he refused to, then he belonged to the Empire, didn’t he?

They didn’t talk much more, beyond the Armorer’s questions about what he would like done with the steel. Once her work was completed, he stood to leave.

“All we have,” the Armorer said, “is what we share. We may not know his reasons, but we can all see his choices.”

Din’s footsteps felt heavy with guilt as he returned to his ship, so distracted by it that he hardly paused to notice that his ship hadn’t been stolen after all, his stomach twisting as he thought himself in circles. What was he doing, what had he done, what was he going to do _now?_

Boba stood at the pull-down table by the weaponry cabinet, his own blaster laid out atop it in pieces, and he looked up from his work when Din entered. Like everything else about Boba, the blaster was battered and dented, hardly functioning. He’d borrowed Din’s tools and seemed to have been trying to remove a dent in the barrel. A few pieces of armor lined the table beside it, the particularly broken ones. He wore his helmet again, and looked both more and less familiar to Din with it on.

“Here. It’s Beskar.” Din held out his newly-reformed piece of Beskar: a gauntlet, matching the Durasteel one that had broken along with Boba’s forearm. Another of Din’s questionable choices: should he have given the Beskar to the tribe, should he have kept it for himself, why was he giving Boba something to help him?

“Oh,” Boba breathed, low and quiet, and the guilt clenching around Din’s heart eased just enough to let him breathe.

Din didn’t explain his mysterious bounty to Boba, and Boba didn’t ask. While Din sat in the cockpit, Boba returned to fixing his blaster, and Din spent almost the entirety of their time in hyperspace wondering what Boba had been able to salvage of his original gear, what had survived the Sarlacc pit and what hadn’t. The jetpack was notably missing.

When the ship landed, Din went to collect his chosen weapons, restocked all the ammo he would need; Boba leaned against the cockpit ladder, watching him.

“I could come with you,” he said, and it wasn’t the most unexpected thing he could have said, but it still took Din by surprise enough that he didn’t think before speaking.

“Your track record isn’t great.” The thought of working with Boba made him immediately nervous, because Boba was the biggest unknown he’d ever faced and he couldn’t trust what he didn’t know. “No.”

“I’ve killed things you’ve never even _seen_ before, my track record is the best in the galaxy,” Boba snapped, “you think I couldn’t handle whatever this is?” He came up close behind Din, too close, and it was entirely reflex that made Din spin, pin Boba to the wall with a hand in the center of his chest, Boba’s helmet banging against the metal.

“You get off this ship, you’re staying on this planet,” Din growled, braced for Boba to hit him, fight back. Boba was still.

“Fine,” he spat, and Din released him. Boba jerked away from Din’s grip, but he didn’t head towards the exit; he climbed the ladder and disappeared into the carbonite storage area, his footsteps heavy and angry overhead. The guilt swept back over Din unexpectedly; he pushed away the uneasy feeling, grabbed his rifle and stalked off the ship.

Outside, the planet baked beneath the sun, and red rocks stretched for as far as Din could see. He lifted his rifle and peered through the scope, sighing as he scanned the empty expanse. The disruptor rifle felt heavy in his hands, maybe because it reminded him that Boba’s signature was disintegration, and maybe he’d had a rifle like this, on all his previous hunts. The fact that Boba had nearly gotten himself killed on his last two bounties wasn’t Din’s fault, and while it didn’t erase his past success, it didn’t make Din confident in his – what, exactly? Capabilities? Emotional state? Would he have worked with Boba in his legendary prime? Was it over, now?

The blurrg came out of nowhere, and before he could react, it had grabbed his arm and slammed him into the dirt. It heaved Din around like a rag doll – up, side to side, back down _hard_. Din tried to wrench himself free, hit it, _burn_ it, anything – and then, as it dragged him over the rocks again, it suddenly jerked, and went limp.

He had only a breath of relief before a second blurrg charged, and he threw up his hand but there was nothing he could do – and this was it, he was going to die here, trampled to death by a stupid blurrg, he hadn’t accepted Boba’s help and now he was going to die just like Boba nearly had, _pointlessly –_

The blurrg collapsed. Din remained tensed for a second, then tried to scramble backwards and dislodge his arm from the first blurrg’s mouth.

“You’re a bounty hunter,” he heard, looked up. A third blurrg – the planet was _overrun_ with them, apparently – and a figure sitting atop it, rifle in hand.

“Yes.”

“I will help you.” The ugnaught announced. Din blinked up at him. “I have spoken.” The ugnaught turned his blurrg to leave.

“Wait,” Din said, pushed himself up out of the dirt. “I need something from my ship first.”

The ugnaught set about moving the blurrgs’ tranquilized bodies, and Din tramped through the red dirt back towards his ship. The ramp slid open, and he paused at the top of it, listening. The silence made his pulse quicken, but – he would have seen someone leaving, surely.

A clang from around the corner made the knot in his chest unclench. He found Boba back at the work table, now cleaning his reassembled blaster, and Boba pointedly ignored his approach, even when Din was standing at his elbow. His movements, Din noticed, got more forceful the longer Din watched him.

“Come with me,” Din said, and it sounded too much like a command, but he didn’t know quite the right way to soften it.

“Not my job,” Boba sneered, but his hands had stilled on the table.

“Come anyways.” Din turned away again, took a few steps and stopped. Swallowed. “ _N’eparavu takisit,”_ he said quietly, because it was the only way he could – _I’m sorry,_ in their shared language, where they didn’t feel so much like strangers – and walked off the ship.

His anxiousness was revealed to him by its sudden absence, when he heard Boba’s footsteps following him. Boba joined him and followed wordlessly back to the place where the blurrgs now lay on a hovering craft, the ugnaught waiting on his blurrg mount.

“What the hell happened here?” Boba asked dryly. Din ignored him. He noticed Boba had helped himself to Din’s weaponry assortment, and carried a rifle along with his own blaster. The ugnaught was examining Boba with a distrustful look on his face.

“I recognize you,” he said, and although Din knew that logically, for Boba to known across the galaxy, _many_ people would doubtlessly recognize him, it was still surprising. Here, on this completely deserted planet, with this stranger, recognizing Boba Fett. Recognizing him for exactly what he was, judging from the ughnaught’s displeasure. Boba seemed completely unphased.

“He’s here to help me,” Din said, and the ugnaught seemed to accept that, turning away and leading them from the clearing.

They trudged across the red landscape in silence, following the ughaught until he brought them to a modest farm. He invited them into the main structure, and soon, Din was sitting under the too-low roof of the tent, which was so cramped that his knee nearly touched Boba’s beside him. Din was so focused on not touching that his thigh muscle felt tensed with strain.

“Many have passed through.” The ugnaught had introduced himself as Kuiil, and he stood before them; he came across taller than he actually was. “They seek the same one as you.”

“Did you help them?”

“Yes,” Kuiil said, and then added, “they died.” Boba snorted at that. Din felt oddly restricted by his helmet, suddenly, for how it squelched his attempt to shoot Boba a sidelong look.

“Well, then I don’t know if I want your help.”

“You do,” Kuiil said. “I can show you to the encampment.”

“What’s your cut?” Boba asked, and Din tried to shoot him another look. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, he’d asked Boba to come along; he’d just suddenly felt so – so outnumbered. It had never mattered before.

“Half.”

“Half the bounty to guide?” Boba shook his head. “Seems a bit steep.”

“Half the blurrg you helped capture.”

“The blurrg?” Din repeated in disbelief. “You can keep them both.” Hell, the ugnaught could keep the entire local population _,_ as far as Din was concerned.

“No, you will need one. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.” Kuiil sounded sure, but Din was equally sure he was exaggerating.

“I don’t know how to ride blurrg.”

“I have spoken,” was all Kuiil said, and he left the tent, apparently fully expecting them to follow him. Din sighed. He wanted to ask Boba if he knew how to ride blurrg, but the question sounded stupid even in his head, so he left it alone and just went outside.

Things got off to a rough start. Din was bucked, charged, knocked into the dirt, over and over. It was starting to grate on his nerves, and he felt _incapable._ He didn’t want it to matter, that Boba was leaning on the fence watching him get slammed into the dirt and fail at this simple skill. It mattered.

He took a running start, the blurrg caught him in the side and Din went flying – up, up, and –

He hit the dirt.

“Perhaps if you removed your helmet,” Kuiil called helpfully. Din thought immediately of removing Boba’s helmet with his own hands, and his skin prickled. His next attempt to climb on the animal’s back was even worse than before.

“ _Perhaps_ he remembers I tried to roast him,” he huffed, getting to his feet once again.

“This is a female, the males are all eaten during mating,” Kuiil said, then turned in Boba’s direction. “Do you need lessons as well?”

“No.” Of course Boba didn’t. Din felt his ears turn red with angry embarrassment, even though no one was comparing the two of them. He approached the blurrg again, but it displayed a new move – it swung around and whacked Din with its tail so hard he flew halfway across the pen. Dust clouded around him as he slid through the dirt yet again.

“I don’t have time for this,” Din tried not to appear visibly furious as he approached the side of the pen, even though he wanted to kick the fencepost. “Do you have a land speeder or a speederbike I could hire?”

“You are a Mandalorian,” Kuiil said encouragingly, “your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur! Surely you can ride this young foal.” Din felt himself grow hot with embarrassment at the words. They weren’t _his_ ancestors, not really. Whatever they had in their blood that made them tamers of great beasts, he didn’t have it. Din was just – this, a Mandalorian by training alone, being watched by a true Mandalorian as he failed to mimic what must come naturally to those with true heritage.

Maybe it was his embarrassed fury that drove him, made him hyper-focused and determined, but his next attempt was successful – he approached slowly, climbed on, and stayed there. Din breathed a sigh of relief as the blurrg walked obediently around the pen at his guidance.

“You gonna ride off into the sunset, or can we get going, here?” Boba yelled over at him, and Din was pretty far away, but he swore he detected amusement in Boba’s voice, like he might be about to laugh. Din promptly lost focus and got jolted off the blurrg when it turned too sharply. Din climbed to his feet yet again, took a deep breath.

“We can go,” he said, and Boba pushed himself off the fence, swung his borrowed rifle over his shoulder again. His movements were lighter, almost carefree. Apparently watching Din eat dirt repeatedly was a newfound hobby of his; Din tried hard to find this offensive. “I expect you’re unreasonably talented at this too?” Din said, as they walked across the farm. Thankfully, Kuiil was putting the bridles on the blurrg, a task Din was positive lay firmly outside of his capabilities.

“Oh, you think I’m unreasonably talented at other things, then?” Boba asked, sounded like he was smirking.

“You probably can’t even ride.”

“Trust me,” Boba said, definitely smirking now, “I can ride anything. There’s nothing I haven’t done.” It was so much more like what Din had _thought_ Boba would be like, overly confident and smirking and cavalier, and here Din was with him, with _the_ Boba Fett himself, and Din was suddenly at a loss.

“Just shut up and get on the thing,” was all he could manage, and Boba snickered.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been exaggerating. Boba could swing himself up onto the blurrg with ease, and he was able to guide it away from the farm without running into one of the paddock fenceposts, which was more than Din could say. Watching him, Din could see the ancestors they didn’t share, the great tamers of beasts. It was another flash of Boba’s expected confidence, the way he must have been throughout the galaxy, a bounty hunter whose legacy preceded on every planet.

“I knew you were capable of this,” Kuiil said to Din as they rode towards the east, Din still holding on slightly tighter than necessary for fear he’d be thrown again at the slightest bump, “it’s in your blood.”

Din sighed. It wasn’t, really, but he was trying to learn all the things that were supposed to be. Ahead, Boba cut a confident silhouette, shoulders back, head high, and arms relaxed, the sun glinting off his shining Beskar gauntlet – unlike Din, who couldn’t stop himself gripping the reins and keeping his legs tight against the blurrg’s sides. Boba looked like a Mandalorian, from here, and today, he’d felt a little like a legend; Din didn’t know what to do other than watch, mystified and waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived at the encampment by what felt like late afternoon, though Din knew that on this planet, the sun would keep burning for many hours more. It was tucked beneath the sharply jutting rocks, and while there were several structures, it was smaller than Din might have expected. In his experience, small locations like this were either severely lacking in firepower, or shockingly heavily armed. Something small was either an afterthought or a secret, he’d found. He suspected this was the latter.

“That is where you’ll find your quarry,” Kuiil pointed towards the encampment, and they looked upon it in silence for a few long moments. Din wondered if Kuiil kept track of how many bounty hunters he brought to this spot, in an effort to restore peace to his home. It was doubtlessly tiring to do this over and over again, especially when all the previous times had failed.

“Here,” Din extended his hand, holding out the remainder of what his last bounty had paid him, but Kuiil shook his head. “Please. You deserve this.”

“Since these ones arrived, this territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction.” Kuiil looked back at the encampment, shaking his head. Maybe he also found it ridiculous, how such a small structure could cause such upheaval.

“Then why did you guide me?”

“They do not belong here. Those that live here come to seek peace. There will be no peace until they’re gone.”

“Then why do you help?” Boba asked; the answer seemed obvious to Din, though. Kuiil just wanted peace. He was as driven as any of them were, but for this, for quietness.

“I have never met a Mandalorian. I’ve only read the stories and heard the rumors,” Kuiil said, “if they are true, you will make quick work of it. Whatever else you are,” he added, with a look in Boba’s direction, “you are effective. Then there will again be peace. I have spoken.”

With that, he took his leave, and Din found himself in this odd new state of his: he would have been alone, but Boba was there with him.

“Let’s go see what’s happening,” Boba said, as though he were in charge, and strode towards the cliff’s edge. He dropped down to lie on his stomach, looking over the ledge, and Din followed suit.

“Well?” he asked, as he took his monocular from his belt. Boba snorted.

“Do I look like I have binoculars?” he said, and Din momentarily felt guilty for pointing that out, even indirectly. Boba elbowed him. “Fuck’s sake, I was joking. My helmet has a macrobinocular viewplate.”

“Oh.” Should he have known that? He knew about the external targeting rangefinder, knew that none of Boba’s armor – except one piece, now – was actually Beskar, knew all the things anyone could find out, but not about what happened inside the helmet. He raised the monocular, focusing on the encampment. Guards, more guards. Even more guards. Guards noticing something.

“Oh, no,” Boba grumbled beside him. “Bounty droid.”

“Do those tend to show up on your jobs?” Din asked, because it seemed highly unlikely, not the kind of bounties Boba took. Boba snorted, which was confirmation that Din was right, and also that he found it hilarious a droid was here on Din’s job. So, great.

The droid proceeded to make itself into a problem, announcing its presence and drawing fire from everyone present. The noise of gunfire filled the canyon.

“They’re closing all the doors,” Boba announced unnecessarily as they watched the drama unfold below. Din sighed. The droid was quoting the Bondsman Guild protocol waiver at length. “The Guild’s obsession with that protocol is hilarious, by the way. A _protocol,”_ he scoffed, “in _bounty hunting.”_

“Let’s go,” Din got to his feet, smacking the dust from his front before tramping down the hillside. “IG Unit!” he bellowed as soon as he got close, “stand down!”

The droid had the audacity to _shoot_ him, and for the umpteenth time that day, Din went flying into the dirt. He was getting _very_ tired of it, and didn’t appreciate having his fall broken by the barrels behind him. “I’m _in_ the Guild!” he yelled, brandishing his tracker before the thing could shoot at him again.

“You are a Guild member? I thought I was the only one on assignment,” the droid prattled. So they had one thing in common, then.

“That makes two of us. So much for the element of surprise,” Din snapped. He got to his feet, retreated to the relative safety of one of the columns. For now, at least, the soldiers had dispersed. Probably to regroup, and then kill them.

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob,” the droid said. Did someone deliberately program it to have such _nerve?_ “I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.” Din could practically hear Boba laughing at the term _writ of seizure._

“Unless I’m mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed,” Din pointed out irritably. It was vaguely insulting, that he’d be given the same bounty as a _droid,_ as if it could be trusted to do the same tasks as him.

“This is true.”

“I have a suggestion.” There was no other way around this, he figured, than teaming up. At least he could make the droid useful, that way.

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

“This is acceptable.”

“Great. Now, let’s regroup, out of harm’s way, and form a plan.”

“I will, of course, receive the reputation merits associated with the mission,” the droid said, and Din debated just shooting it on the spot. He could do it. He forced himself not to.

“Can we talk about this later?!”

The stupid thing stopped in its tracks. “I require an answer if I am to proceed,” it began, before getting cut off by blaster fire. Din had never been so happy to be shot at. “Oh, no. Alert. Alert. Alert,” the droid intoned.

Din started shooting – it took a fair amount of discipline, to stop himself from shooting the droid, even just _once –_ and the blaster fire they received quickly multiplied.

“Let’s go!” he yelled at IG-11, which seemed determined to just stand and deliver, shooting back from the middle of the courtyard. Guards were popping out of every corner and crevice, and Din didn’t like how fast they were swarming. He worked his way around towards the main doors, the droid following and shooting the entire way.

It wasn’t going well. He dove behind a cart, shooting in seemingly every direction to try and return fire. The Niktos came from behind every wall, on every roof.

“Where the hell did he go?” Din grumbled to himself; Boba had seemingly disappeared, too. Some help he was.

“Are you referring to me? I am behind you,” the droid responded. Din groaned aloud.

“No, not you!” Several guards on the nearest roof dropped at once, though neither Din nor the droid had been shooting in that direction. That answered his question about whether Boba had decided to stroll back to the Crest without him, at least. For a bounty hunter with the equivalent of a cat bell on his boots, he seemed surprisingly fond of the stealth approach.

More rooftop Niktos fell; Din took the opportunity to pull out the tracking fob. It beeped steadily, and then quicker when he pointed it towards the main metal doors. “He’s in there,” he told the IG unit.

“Affirmative.”

At least the droid was on the same page as him; shooting constantly, it led the approach to the doors, and Din ducked from column to column until he reached his target. Once he got there, the shooting stopped.

“It appears we are trapped,” IG-11 said, in its infuriating monotone. “I will initiate self-destruct sequencing.”

“Whoa, you’re what?!” Din whipped back towards the droid. Self-destruct? _Now?_

“Manufacturers’ Protocol dictates I cannot be captured,” the IG unit said, as if it were reporting on something as matter-of-fact as the weather, “I must self-destruct.”

“Do not self-destruct!” The _last_ thing he needed was a suddenly suicidal droid, and just when it was starting to actually be helpful, and, not to mention, standing extremely close to him.

So – they were trapped. Fine. He could handle that. “Cover me!” he shouted to the droid, and ran to the door’s control panel. He ripped off the face of the panel, but between the constant blaster fire and unfamiliar wire connections, couldn’t force the door to open before he had to duck out of the line of fire again.

“There’s too many!” he yelled above the sounds of firing, pressed back against the column once more. “They got us pinned.” He chanced a look around the column, and scanned the rooftops in between taking aim and shooting at guards. “Hey!” he yelled, when he saw the familiar helmet and the tip of an equally familiar rifle, “get down here and help me!”

It was unclear if Boba could hear him or not, but he didn’t move from his spot. He, at least, kept shooting, and guard after guard dropped.

“I will initiate self-destruct,” IG-11 announced again, and Din cursed under his breath. If the droid said that _one more time,_ he’d blow it up it himself.

“Do not self-destruct! We’re shooting our way out!”

Except when he jumped out from behind the pillar, he was suddenly facing a mounted gun. “Okay,” he blurted out, and dove back again, just before the hail of shots reached them. “Can you shoot _that_ one?!” he yelled towards the roof. “The one with the _biggest gun?!”_

“I do not believe I can,” the droid responded. Din banged his helmet back against the column in frustration.

“Not you!”

“Beginning self-destruct countdown,” the droid reported.

“No!” Din hissed, “stop it!” They were shooting the column, clearly with the intent to bring the roof down on them. Great, just great. “Well?” he bellowed in the direction of the roof. “Get _that one!”_

“I do not understand,” the IG-11 said, “is this a form of prayer?”

“I am not asking God to shoot anyone!” Din shouted back. The absurdity made him want to punch the column – here he was, yelling at Boba Fett to shoot the guard for him, on a suicidal, secret bounty hunt, and the droid thought he was praying for extremely violent divine intervention. Every part was equally unbelievable. “Go draw its fire and I’ll cover you!” The droid stepped out into the clearing and began shooting, the gunfire following it.

The heavy gunfire stopped abruptly, and then began again, this time in the other direction. When Din looked out again, the Nikto that had manned the gun had been shot, and Boba had jumped down from the roof to take its place on the gun.

“Finally,” Din muttered. He waited for Boba to gun down the other guards – he deserved the break, he decided – and when the clearing went silent again, stepped out from behind the column.

“You’re welcome!” Boba yelled over.

“I will disengage self-destruct initiative,” the droid informed Din. Din sighed, walked over to offer his hand to help the droid up.

“You know, you’re not so bad,” he relented. “For a droid.”  
“Agreed.” The droid had been shot, but its diagnostics confirmed that nothing critical had been damaged, and Din led it back to the main doors, which remained closed.

“Well, now we just need to get the door open.” He turned back, to where Boba had picked up a fallen blaster and was inspecting it. “Any bright ideas to get inside?” he called. Boba looked at him. Looked pointedly at the mounted gun. “Fine.”

It was dramatic, but not ineffective. Boba shot along the edges of the door, and it willingly split apart, falling open before them. “You’re _welcome!”_ Boba shouted again.

“Let’s go,” Din told IG-11, and it followed him into the building. When another guard appeared from behind a column, Din wasted no time in shooting him. “Anyone else?” he called. He was well and truly at the end of his patience, and was relieved when no one else revealed themselves.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate that there is a life form present,” IG-11 said. Din’s tracking fob appeared to agree with its assessment, blinking rapidly and beeping. He pointed it in one direction, then the other; the beeping increased, becoming frenetic as he approached a metal orb in the corner of the room. He pressed one of the buttons on the outside, and the top split open with a whirr.

This was wrong. This was very wrong. The creature inside the orb was tiny, was _young._ A little green thing with big ears and even bigger eyes blinked up at Din, and the way it looked at him – Din knew he cut an imposing figure, big and armored and armed, and only something very young could look at him so wondrously, understanding nothing and filled with pure curiosity.

“Wait,” Din said. “They said fifty years old.”

“Species age differently,” the IG unit said. “Perhaps it could live many centuries. Sadly, we’ll never know,” the droid lifted its blaster, and Din smacked its arm down.

“No. We’ll bring it in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.”

IG-11 raised its blaster again, but it didn’t have the chance to shoot; Din was a much faster draw, and had already fired. IG-11 dropped to the ground.

The creature – the _child,_ it was just a child – blinked huge eyes at Din, ears twitching. Wordlessly, Din extended his hand, just one finger – the child reached for him, and grabbed hold. It gazed up at him like it had been waiting for him.

“What happened to the droid?” Boba’s voice came from the doorway. Din didn’t turn.

“I shot it.”

“Uh-huh.” The sound of spurs jangling got closer. “If you’re in a teammate-killing mood, I should really go.” He stopped. “Is that…”

“This is the Asset.” Din withdrew his hand from the baby’s grasp. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Huh.” Boba looked at it for a long moment, sounded completely disoriented. “Huh,” he said again. His head tilted. The child stared back at him.

“What? Let’s go,” Din said, and Boba looked up, flinched like he hadn’t been expecting these surroundings or even Din beside him, like he’d just been somewhere else very far away and not here at all.

Din set the floating cradle’s programming to respond to his own system signals, and then headed for the exit. Boba followed like he was sleepwalking, quiet and repeatedly looking back at the cradle that floated behind them.

“What?” Din asked again.

“Ever feel like you’ve wronged everyone in the galaxy?” Boba said distantly, looking back at the child. And Din did, right this moment, as he brought a child in for a bounty; it was a betrayal of the foundling he’d been, because if he’d been found by someone entirely different, he wouldn’t have been so much found as lost. Here was this foundling, and Din was doing a disservice to his own past, to the way that had saved him. 

“What else can you do?” he said, and Boba shook his head, voice faraway.

“It’s already done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways I'm icehot13 on Tumblr if you'd like to join me in screaming about softest!bobafett


	6. Chapter 6

The rocky landscape felt endless in the dark. Night had fallen, and every noise seemed to come from both extremely close and very far away, although each time Din looked, he saw no movement. The cradle floated silently, and Din kept glancing back, checking. Each time, the child was asleep. He was tempted to close the top, in case it tried to climb out, but the child didn’t seem determined to escape. Besides, he didn’t know how long it had been trapped in the encampment; maybe it would like to feel the cool night air.

They were in the middle of a dry ravine when Boba stopped abruptly. “Wait,” he said softly, and Din immediately turned to the cradle. The child slept. Distantly – maybe not so distantly – a few pebbles tumbled to the ground, very softly. Din’s hand drifted to his blaster; in a sudden move, Boba had his drawn and was shooting at something over Din’s shoulder. Din ducked, spun.

Three figures, converging on them. Din’s first move was to send the cradle zipping safely away and his second was to yank his rifle from its holster. They had to be bounty hunters, didn’t look at all like the guards from the encampment. The first came in close, fast, swinging a vibroblade, and the second rushed in from his other side. Din shot at the one off to the side, though his attention shift earned him a slash from the vibroblade. Din jabbed at the knife-wielder with his rifle’s taser, shot the other, and heard the rapid blaster fire that told him Boba was taking care of the third, and then the first.

It was over. Din was breathing hard, more from the sudden adrenaline rush than the actual exertion required. He cast a look around to check for any others, and saw nothing. Boba kicked at something on the ground.

“Isn’t that a Guild tracker?” he asked, and Din sighed, recognizing it immediately. “A droid _and_ three bounty hunters? They really don’t have much faith in you, do they?”

“I will leave you here,” Din threatened. He had the cradle float back towards them; the child had slept through the entire encounter, and Din let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Every time he looked at the child, it seemed newly tiny, and he was afraid all over again that something would happen to it. It was just – so small.

“Some survival instinct you have,” Boba commented, reached to touch the edge of the cradle, rocking it just slightly.

“It’s a _child,”_ Din pointed out, but there wasn’t much sharpness to it. “Let’s keep going until we find somewhere safer to camp out.”

He chose a spot they came upon after another mile of walking. The land had flattened, and even in the darkness, they would be able to see any movement coming towards them.

“Cozy,” Boba said, looking at the empty land surrounding them, as Din unsnapped a small light from his belt, flicked it on. Next, he unrolled his set of tools, spread the kit out on the ground in front of him. A quick look told him that Boba had received no injuries, not even any damage to his armor, and it was ridiculous, but Din was relieved. No doubt because it would be his problem to deal with, and he’d just finished getting Boba patched up from his disastrous last hunt. He would much rather fix his own armor, and cauterizing the cut on his own arm was far easier than what he’d had to heal last time.

Boba was occupying himself by inspecting the new blaster he’d picked up, but each time Din looked at him, he appeared to be holding a different gun.

“How many of those did you take?” he asked dryly. Boba shrugged.

“I appreciate variety.” He turned one over in his hands, inspecting the mechanisms. “You also may have noticed that I own nothing, so I have to start from somewhere.”

“You didn’t find your ship?” Din asked. It felt too personal to be asking, although it was a simple, practical question.

“Everything was gone.” He didn’t look up. It felt incomplete, that Din could picture Boba’s face but wasn’t familiar with the expressions that went with different tones of voice. He was at least becoming familiar with the way Boba sounded, beyond his initial beaten-down defeat and tired apathy, and some of the new shades were good, like the dry humor that had recently surfaced, but some – some were like the way he sounded now, quiet and with depth. 

“How long were you there for?” Suddenly, Din understood why this felt overly personal: they didn’t have to specify what they were talking about. He knew it was just because Boba’s past was so widely known that in a way, it belonged to everyone, but like this, the two of them talking in the dark without needing to clarify what they referred to, it felt intimate.

“About a year. There were others down there, so it was saving me for last.” His tone was sardonic, but there was something else lurking beneath it, something less hardened, less unaffected. “It took that long to get to the bottom.”

“What happened?” Did anyone know? From Boba’s long silence, Din thought it might be the piece of the story no one in the galaxy knew, that unlike all the other parts, this was Boba’s alone. The time in between the fall and the escape belonged only to him. _I heard he survived,_ people were saying, and Din been hearing stories ever since they’d thought Boba was dead, because no one had believed it, not at first. They thought he’d shot his way out, that he’d killed the beast from within, that he’d gone all the way in so he could plant grenades, that he’d tamed it and used it to swallow up the next village, that there were explosions and gunfire and legendary glory.

Boba didn’t lift his head, inhaled slowly, exhaled. There was no glory in this escape, and Din could see only what no one had paused to consider: Boba Fett, haunted by his almost-death, an escape that kept part of him still trapped, the way a piece of Din was forever being ripped from his parents in a hail of blasterfire and screaming, a loop he couldn’t ever escape.

“When I got all the way down and could stand, I triggered the jetpack and set it off, and the explosion threw me back out.” Boba stopped. His fingers opened and closed on the blaster’s barrel, tightly. “I don’t know if I hallucinated the whole thing, but – the Sarlacc had merged consciousness with someone it had trapped hundreds of years ago, and they talked to me. For a year, telling me that this was it, that I’d spend the next thousand years kept alive just so it could kill me as slowly as it wanted, like a special barve that you don’t eat all at once because then it can be useful in the meantime, just that for a _thousand years_ –” he shook his head sharply, and when he next spoke, the drifting in his voice had been replaced by a hard edge. “I made it angry, and it shook me loose,” he said. Like that was all there was to it, nothing behind _how_ he had managed to make something so angry, the giant beast on the other side of the telepathic link had been violently shaking. “And then I could activate my jetpack. That’s how I got out.” He tossed the blaster down beside him, reached for Din’s roll of tools. “Give me that,” he said, taking the cauterizing pen from Din’s hand. “Incompetent.”

Din sat still, as Boba pressed the cauterizing pen to his skin in small, precise movements. It was well-known that a Sarlacc pit could digest its food for a thousand years. He’d never thought about how the victim would be alive, would know that _the entire time._ Boba had spent an entire year down there, _knowing,_ staring down a thousand years of slow, agonizing death. He probably hadn’t been afraid for long, and that would have been the worst part, when the fear turned to helpless, writhing anger, because he’d known his fate, and was forced to _accept_ it.

Din knew what he wanted to say, but when the words kept falling outside of his reach, he retreated to the safer Mando’a instead – it was just theirs, reserved for things no one else should hear, the language Din learned after rescue, the language that made them one.

“I won’t let that happen to you again,” he said quietly.

There was a soft cooing sound, and they both looked down to find that the child had escaped its cradle and toddled over to them. It held its small hands up towards the cauterizing pen Boba held, straining to reach.

“I don’t think so,” Boba said, setting the pen down out of the child’s reach. Din stood, picked up the child and returned it to the cradle.

“It’s time to sleep,” he told it, “we’re going to sleep, too.” The child chirped in response, closed its eyes. “Good,” Din said, and closed the top of the cradle so it could sleep safely. When he returned to his spot, the moment had broken; Boba only spoke to ask if Din wanted to sleep first or watch first.

“I’ll keep watch,” Din said. He pretended not to notice that Boba didn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

“Do you hear something?” Boba asked, right as they reached the canyon where Din had left the Razor Crest, exactly where Din _didn’t_ want to hear something suspicious. Din hurried the last few steps to the top of the ridge, and he didn’t think he’d ever gone from fine to absolutely furious so quickly before. Jawas had stripped his ship of _everything,_ and seemingly every piece of the ship was strewn across the sand in front of their towering, crawling vehicle.

Din said nothing; he dropped to one knee, unhooked his rifle, and brought it to his shoulder. He got two shots off quickly, before the Jawas even noticed their fellow thieves disintegrating. The third was accompanied by Jawas screeching.

“This isn’t great conflict resolution,” Boba commented, but it was interspaced by rifle shots, and he got two more Jawas before they could close up the door of their metal monstrosity. Din clenched his jaw, glaring after them.

“Stay with the child,” he commanded, and broke into a run to try and catch up. If they lost sight of the Jawas, they’d never find them again, not on this vast, nearly featureless landscape. His ship was _destroyed,_ and if he didn’t get his parts back – well, then he’d have a lifetime to hunt the Jawas down, because he would be stranded here.

Din managed to catch up and grab hold of the side, but it was his first and last stroke of good luck. Trying to claw his way up the side of the ship resulted the Jawas raining garbage metal pieces down on him, and when he managed to shoot a wire up to the top and climb his way up using it, his victory was short-lived. The moment he set foot on the roof of the ship, it was over; they _shot_ him, and he went down hard. Over the side of the fortress. Of course.

He may have lost consciousness for a moment, because when he blinked awake, he was flat on his back, looking up to see Boba peering down at him, nudging Din’s shoulder with the toe of his boot.

“Nice going,” Boba said, and Din heard the child chirp in the background. “See, I told you he was fine,” Boba said, looking over his shoulder. Din groaned, dropped his head back onto the dirt and closed his eyes. The child made a questioning sound. “No, he’s just being dramatic. He’s fine, I promise. You’re freaking the kid out,” he informed Din, “it thinks you’re dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Din grumbled, pushing himself up. “Let’s go see what’s left of the ship.”

What was left could hardly be called a ship anymore. Din stalked through the ship, opening hatches and slamming them shut again, snarling at all the empty spaces that used to house important components. The engines spluttered and died when he tried to turn them on, and systems beeped hysterical error reports at him until he shut everything down again. The hatch beneath the control panel revealed sparking wires and missing parts everywhere. Din swore under his breath, slammed the cover closed.

The ship was destroyed. There was no chance it would fly like this, and how else was he supposed to get off this planet? He clenched his jaw, had to look away from the control panel before he did something stupid like punch it. Down below, he could see Boba and the child waiting for him outside. Boba appeared to be talking to it, at length, gesturing expressively; the child waved its hands around as if to mimic him. Din exhaled slowly, gradually feeling his fury seep out of him. They’d go back to Kuiil, and ask him for help finding the Jawas. And then Din was going to rip their ship open with his bare hands and take back all his parts, simple as that.

The walk to Kuiil’s farm felt even longer, this time. Din tried not to drag his feet with irritation, scowling at the darkening sky. Night had fallen by the time they reached Kuiil’s farm, but he was still outdoors, and stopped working when he noticed the three of them coming towards them.

“I thought you were dead,” he said by way of greeting. Din grunted in response.

“Jawas got to the ship,” Boba reported, “Took everything that wasn’t welded down. Won’t fly.”

The child had climbed out of its cradle and was toddling around their feet, picking up pebbles and putting them back down again with both hands. “This is what was causing all the fuss?” Kuiil asked.

“I think it’s a child.” 

“It is better to deliver it alive, then.” Kuiil looked from the child to Din, apparently expecting more to their explanation, as if the Jawas taking every moving part off the ship wasn’t explanation enough as to why they were still on this planet and not thousands of miles away.

“My ship has been destroyed. I’m trapped here,” Din reiterated. 

“Stripped,” Kuiil said, “not destroyed. The Jawas steal, they don’t destroy.”

“Good to know they have a _code,”_ Boba sounded like he was rolling his eyes. Was that something he did? It seemed like him.

“Stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me,” Din growled, “They’re protected by their crawling fortress. There’s no way to recover the parts.” Unfortunately, his fantasy about tearing the Jawa ship apart piece by piece wasn’t exactly realistic. He hadn’t done so well on his first encounter with the fortress.

“You can trade.”

“Trade with Jawas?” Boba snorted. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I will take you to them. I have spoken.” Kuiil returned to his repair work. Din heaved a sigh, looked over when he heard a scuffling sound. The child had somehow caught a frog, and only the legs stuck out of its mouth.

“Hey,” Din warned, “spit that out.” The child did not. It swallowed. Giggled madly. Din looked to Boba, and immediately ground out another “hey!” Boba froze in the act of handing a second frog to the child, who shrieked and tried to grab for its dangling legs eagerly. “Don’t give him that.” Too late; the child managed to snag the frog, and in a flash, it was gone, too. Great.

In the morning, amidst a heavy downpour that darkened the sky, Kuiil led them to the Jawas. Negotiations went rather poorly; the Jawas were willing to trade his parts – _his own_ parts! – back to him, but only in exchange for his armor, his guns, the rest of the ship, his helmet, or Boba Fett himself.

“No,” Boba said after the last one, although Kuiil had paused as if considering it, “hey, no!”

“Isn’t there anything else?” Kuiil asked the Jawas with a sigh, as though he thought trading them a bounty hunter wasn’t _entirely_ unreasonable, and the Mandalorians were just being difficult now. The Jawas chattered eagerly about what Din thought was an egg. An _egg?_ At least the other offers were high-value. Din wasn’t about to ask for clarification himself, though, not after they’d laughed hysterically at his Jawa and responded poorly to his use of his flamethrower in retaliation.

“There is an egg,” Kuiil reported, “if you bring them the egg, you can have your parts back.”

“An egg,” Boba repeated, sounding extremely insulted, “are you saying they’ll take ten guns, or _me,_ or an egg?”

“They prefer the egg,” Kuiil said, and Boba shook his head. “It is in a pit, just a half mile to the west from here, they say.”

“Of course it’s in a pit,” Boba muttered darkly.

“Let’s go get the egg, then,” Din rose from his seat, snatched his rifle from the ground where he’d been forced to lay it, and started in the direction where all the Jawas pointed in unison. The child waved goodbye to the Jawas as the three of them left the canyon.

The pit appeared unremarkable, when Din stood at the edge of the canyon, scowling at it. He returned to where he’d left Boba and the child, well out of sight of it. “Just stay back here with him,” Din said, “maybe this is just a plan for the Jawas to snatch the child while I hunt for a nonexistent egg like an idiot.”

“What if they capture us both?” Boba said dryly, but he stayed put as Din made his way down the hillside and towards the pit. He kept his blaster aloft and turned on his light, but the pit was still, dark, and empty. All the same, every step he took farther from the entrance seemed like a bad sign. The whole request was suspiciously simple. If the Jawas wanted the egg from here, why not just come in and take it?

When he looked to his left, he suddenly had his answer – and then the mudhorn charged.

Din slammed into the dirt outside the pit, and he didn’t have time to scramble all the way to his feet before the mudhorn was thundering towards him again. Another hard hit, this time lower, and he was tumbling backwards through the mud. His rifle, that was the only thing that would stop it – but when he tried to push in the bullet, it stuck. Mud filled every crevice of it, and the whole thing was knocked from his hands when the mudhorn came at him again.

“Hey!” he yelled towards the edge of the canyon, “ _hey!”_ He didn’t have time to see if Boba appeared, the mudhorn suddenly right on top of him again, and Din had nothing, _nothing,_ was he going to die here? His blaster surely wouldn’t penetrate the beast’s incredibly thick skin, but his vibroblade, maybe. He scrambled to pull it from its sheath, and the mudhorn struck at the perfectly wrong instant – the blade flew from his hand, landing far away in the mud.

Din managed to get to his feet, started running towards where he thought – hoped – the knife had landed. At the very least, he caught sight of movement off to his left, but the sound of blasterfire made his heart sink. Boba wasn’t carrying a disruptor rifle, just blasters and his borrowed rifle. The mudhorn barely noticed the shots Boba fired off as he slid hurriedly down the side of the hill, the cradle bobbing after him.

“Your rifle?” Boba yelled, pointing to where it lay.

“Busted!” Din scrambled around in the mud for his knife, but he couldn’t find it anywhere; he was breathing hard, everything hurt, and he heard the mudhorn before he saw it. Boba kept firing at the mudhorn, but it didn’t even break stride before flinging Din across the pit again. At the very least, his blasterfire seemed to keep distracting it enough that it wasn’t able to spear Din on its tusk, kept thrashing its head around in response to the shots being fired at it. When Boba got it to turn around and seek out the source of the blasterfire, Din had time to scramble to his feet, but then the cycle would just begin again. He could tell that Boba was trying to time it so he could go after Din’s disruptor rifle, but it lay in the mud across the clearing from him, and the mudhorn was turning too quickly. They could hold it off like this, at least for as long as Din could survive being heaved through the air and nearly trampled to death, but then what?

“Help him!” Boba was shouting, and when Din looked, he was gesturing towards the mudhorn, speaking to the child, “come on! I know you can use it to help him!”

“Don’t yell at him! He’s a _baby!”_ The absurdity wasn’t lost on him, but there was no reason to yell at a baby, even if Din was about to die. What was the _child_ going to do? The mudhorn was charging at him, head down, and Din’s knee kept buckling under him as he tried to stand, and he looked around wildly for anything that could help, dove in the direction of a glint in the mud that might be his knife but it was too late –

Nothing.

Stillness.

Din tensed, but the impact never came. He looked over his shoulder. The mudhorn, inexplicably, floated in midair, struggling and snorting.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, “ _what?”_ Was he going insane? He was dead, and hallucinating wildly. That was the only answer. Except he’d also hallucinated the child, and Boba, because they were both still nearby. Boba was on his knees with Din’s disruptor rifle in his hands, stopped in the middle of trying to hastily fix it, and the child was holding out its little hands towards the mudhorn, concentrating. Was _the child_ doing this?

Whatever it was, Din wasn’t losing his chance. He snatched his knife out of the mud and dove forward, plunging it into the mudhorn’s neck. Finally, finally, it stopped moving, and it hit the ground. Din collapsed to his knees.

Boba had gone to check on the child, and Din watched listlessly, breathing hard. Had the child really done that? _How?_

“Good job,” he heard Boba saying, “I knew you could do it.”

The entire situation was too much for Din to handle, really. He struggled to his feet and trudged towards the pit, where he easily retrieved the egg. No wonder the Jawas couldn’t get it for themselves, he thought, although they could have _told_ him the reason.

“I’ve got it,” he called over to Boba, who was still leaned over the cradle. Boba straightened.

“It's sleeping,” he said, “but I think it'll be fine.” He tilted his head, still looking at Din. “Are _you_ fine?”

“Uh-huh.” Din didn’t have the energy to ask questions about the strange occurrences. The child was fine, and he hadn’t been trampled to death in the mud; right now, that was enough for him. He trudged out of the canyon, Boba and the cradle following along behind him. When they returned to the Jawa crawler, the Jawas had apparently had the audacity to lose patience, and were packing up to leave.

“I got it,” Din called. Kuiil, at least, had had some faith in Din and was still waiting. Kuiil gestured to the Jawas, who shrieked with joy and clamored to take the egg from Din. Din was more than happy to hand it over, although it was oddly irritating to see the object he’d nearly died for being sliced open and messily devoured by Jawas.

They at least got all his parts back – a staggeringly huge amount, now that he saw them all piled together – and returned to his shell of a ship.

“This is going to take _years_ to fix,” Din groaned, surveying the wreckage. He could see straight through the ship’s outer hull, in some places. Boba came up beside him, elbowed him.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, “at least it wasn’t stolen. You can dig your way out of a stripped ship, but not a missing one.”

“Some metaphor,” Din grunted, but Boba wasn’t wrong. He didn’t even _have_ the Slave anymore, and judging by how many iterations of it he had flown, he’d experienced worse than this more than once.

The work went quicker than Din had expected. He hadn’t counted on Kuiil being a fully-equipped expert with ship repair, and every time he left Boba with a section of the ship, he’d come back to it fully functional not long after. Din tried to pay Kuiil back for all his help, even to offer him a job, but Kuiil turned him down, and Din had known they’d be leaving the planet without him, but it was still difficult to go.

“Thank you for bringing peace to my valley,” Kuiil said; at least Din had been able to give him this, in exchange for everything Kuiil had done for them. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was the only thing Kuiil wanted. “Good luck with the child. May it survive and bring you a handsome reward.” Din flinched at his words. At the end of this, the end they now stood on the cusp of, he had to give the child to the Imperials. It was a bounty.

Din closed the ramp reluctantly, and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. Boba and the child were waiting for him, the cradle set beside Boba’s seat at the rear of the cockpit.

“Nevarro?” Boba asked, as Din powered on the engines.

“Yes.”

They traveled in silence for a long time, until the quietness was broken by a small scuffling sound. The child had woken up, and lowered itself out of its cradle, suddenly appearing at Din’s elbow. As Din watched, it reached for the ball on the end of a handle, popped it off.

“Hey,” Din said, as it cooed at the ball, “that’s not a toy.” He plucked it from the child’s hands, returned it to the console before lifting the child by the back of its clothing and putting it into the cradle. More scuffling sounds, but when Din turned, the child was raising its arms towards Boba, giving tiny grunts. “How did you know what it could do?” Din asked, turning in his seat again after a moment. Boba had given in, and the child sat in his lap.

“I’ve seen its kind before,” Boba said. “Just one, though.”

“Where is it?”

“Dead.”

“Did you work together?” Din asked, just because he wanted it to be that answer, but he wasn’t surprised by Boba shaking his head.

“I’ve never worked with anyone. I’ve only worked for people, or worked to kill them.” It didn’t sound the way Din would have expected it to, like a point of pride. Mostly, it sounded like a lonely way to exist within the galaxy.

“So you don’t know anyone who would know where it came from?”

“I don’t know what they knew about him. Last time I saw them was on Tattooine. For all I know, this one _is_ him, somehow.” Boba lifted the child in his arms, scrutinized it. It tried to reach for the rangefinder attachment on his helmet, cooing with interest. “You don’t recognize me,” Boba said, but then he added, “right?” so quietly that it made something in Din’s chest ache. Boba had seemingly been everywhere, it was almost more unlikely that his encounter with the child’s kind _hadn’t_ affected the child in some way, in ripple effects that would only reach this far years later.

Maybe he hadn’t meant it the way Din had thought, that bringing in this child was to wrong the entire galaxy all at once, breaking a principle that would bring down everything standing atop it – maybe he’d meant that his influence was spread so far and wide that somehow, he’d hurt everyone, _every single person_ in the galaxy, even this tiny child who was now gazing at Boba like he’d saved it. Maybe he’d meant that no matter where he went, there was someone he’d hurt. To everyone else, the vastness of the galaxy was comforting in its limitless possibility, but maybe to him, it was just unrelenting proof that his ability to ruin lives was equally limitless.

But he’d chosen to be like this, and that was the part Din couldn’t reconcile, because how could Boba now look at what he’d done with such regret? Boba had built his ruinous legacy with his own hands.


	7. Chapter 7

It felt wrong. Din knew it would, but it wasn’t until the very moment that the Stormtrooper touched the child’s cradle that Din truly understood _how_ _wrong_ this was. Suddenly, it was starkly obvious, more than it had been just a nanosecond before: the Stormtrooper was pulling the cradle along behind them, a hand that wasn’t Din’s was on the child’s cradle, and everything in Din screamed that _this was wrong._

Din watched them take the child from the room, staring after it, and the child blinked at him, entirely calm like it was sure nothing bad was happening, because Din was there. The first time Din had heard it make unhappy sounds was this morning, when they’d left the ship without Boba, and the child had turned in its cradle and pointed at the ship like Din had forgotten something, making complaining sounds. It had calmed when Din reassured it, though, because it trusted him, and now it was being taken away, still trusting him.

“What are your plans for it?” he asked, the words yanked out like he couldn’t stop them.

“How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation,” the client said, “you have taken both commission and payment. Is it not the code of the Guild that these events are now forgotten?” Din could hear Boba’s voice in his head at that, his sneering at the _code of the Guild._ He wouldn’t let someone else’s code dictate what he did, not like this.

Din left without seeing the child again; maybe it was waiting for him to come retrieve it, maybe it wasn’t even upset yet, because it was still just waiting. Din left, and all he could do was continue to the covert, bringing the Beskar he’d been given in exchange for the child.

This time, the Armorer wasn’t the one to bring up his latest choices. She accepted the Beskar, made plans for its construction, and didn’t look over his shoulder to see if he’d come alone. He knew it wasn’t because she assumed Boba was gone for good, and maybe she’d chosen to accept that, maybe she was currently viewing Din differently because of it.

The other Mandalorians made it clear that they viewed him differently. Din’s first sin of accepting stolen Beskar was suddenly no longer his greatest, and when one strode up to the table to examine the Beskar, it wasn’t even his prime concern.

“Our world was shattered by the Empire,” the bigger Mandalorian snarled, “with whom this coward shares tables. He accepts _our_ Beskar from them, and who does he give it to?” He knocked the steel against Din’s gauntlet, which was noticeably too old to be the piece he’d just commissioned. “The traitor who _helped_ them.”

“He had nothing to do with the Great Purge.” Din wanted to insist that Boba wasn’t with the Empire, not anymore, but – he didn’t really know that, did he? The first thing Boba had done was to take a bounty _for the Empire,_ one that would help them rise again. He hadn’t exactly _stopped_ Din from turning in the child, had he?

“He’s joined their legacy, has he not?” The Mandalorian spat, “When he joined the Empire, he took on their history. By perpetuating it, he’s chosen to answer for it.” He flung the steel back onto the table, and the next thing Din knew, the other Mandalorian was reaching for his helmet as if to rip it off, and then everything was a flurry of movement and knives flashing, until they each had a blade at the other’s throat, and everything was still.

“The Empire is no longer,” the Armorer said. “When one chooses to walk the way of the Mandalore, you become part of our history. This is a way built from found pieces. To see the ability for redemption in others is our tradition. This is the way.”

Voices echoed hers around the room: _this is the way._ Din dropped his blade, and watched the others leave the room again. Was that what he saw in Boba, redemption?

“What caused this damage?” the Armorer asked, gesturing to his broken armor. Din sank onto the bench, sighed.

“A mudhorn.”

“Then you have earned the mudhorn as your signet. I shall craft it.”

“I can’t accept. It wasn’t a noble kill,” he said, and for a moment, he was back in the mud, watching the mudhorn charging towards him again, too beaten to rise again, hearing Boba yelling for the child to help, the three of them beneath the burning sun that almost watched him die. “I was helped by an enemy.”

“Why would an enemy help you in battle?”

“It did not know it was my enemy.” Maybe the child still thought Din was coming back for it. Maybe it still didn’t know, and at what point would it realize? When Din had been gone for hours, days? When they began to hurt it?

“Since you forgo a signet, I shall use the excess to forge whistling birds.”

“Whistling birds will do well. Reserve some for the foundlings.”

“As it should always be. The foundlings are the future.”

“I was a foundling,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I know,” The Armorer said; Din wondered if someone had told her, if she’d been there when he was found. Maybe all she had to do was look at him, and she knew. “This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din echoed, although how could he? Maybe the mudhorn would not become his signet, but it felt burned into his skin anyways, his life being saved by the foundling he was turning in as a bounty and the bounty hunter who had turned against their shared people. Maybe it wouldn’t be his signet, but it would be the symbol of his sin.

Din didn’t particularly want to return to the Guild, but it felt like the only next step available to him. He could pick up another puck, leave quickly enough that they wouldn’t have time to figure out what was supposed to happen next. He just wanted to get in, get out, and have reason to tell Boba _we’ll figure that out after this bounty_ if he asked what they were going to do.

The entire Guild went silent when he walked in the door. Din was used to some level of that, the way none of the Guild members felt like his friends, but it was usually more discrete than this, everyone staring as he walked over to Karga’s table.

“Mando!” Karga greeted him, too loud. “They all hate you, Mando, because you’re a legend.” Din nearly laughed; _he_ wasn’t a legend. If Karga thought he was appealing to Din’s ego, he was mistaken; Din understood what made a legend, and knew he had done nothing of the sort.

“How many of them had tracking fobs?” he asked instead.

“All of them,” Karga answered, with more gusto than Din had been expecting; apparently Karga was going to lean into this as a point of flattery, too. “All of them! But none of them closed the deal. Only you, Mando. Only you! And with it, the richest reward this parsec has ever seen. Please sit, my friend,” he said, and Din did, tuning Karga out as he kept blathering about Din’s success, his reward, his value. Din was not a legend, and no man like Karga was going to convince him otherwise.

“I want my next job,” Din interrupted.

“Next job? Take some time off! Enjoy yourself!” Karga said, and maybe part of Din wanted to, wanted to stop and slow, to pause somewhere. But if he did, if he went back to the Crest and told Boba that he was going to take a break – then what?

“I want,” Din repeated through his teeth, “my next job.”

“Sure, fine. You hunters like to keep busy, right? Well, these are all far away.” He spread a selection of pucks on the table.

“The further the better.”

“Well, take your pick. You’ve earned it,” Karga said, and Din snatched up the closest puck to him, triggered its video display and dropped it back to the table. “Ah, that’s the best one of the lot. Looks like you’re headed to the ocean dunes of Karnac.” Din could live with that. He took the puck and stood, but stopped after only a few steps.

“Any idea what they’re going to do with it?”

“With what?”

“The kid,” Din ground out.

“I didn’t ask. It’s against Guild code.” Again, he could just hear Boba laughing at this, something as stupid as someone else’s code keeping Din from getting what he needed. Or was this the way things had to be, to stop people from becoming what Boba had? Was he, still?

Din still had his own code, though; he still had the way of the Mandalorians, the code that made sense. Maybe that’s all a code was, finding one that aligned with what felt right – but he was following the one Boba had forsaken, and how could those two facts ever reconcile?

Whatever Din was, he was a foundling, and he knew what code to honor.

Din left the Guild, and he’d just turned the corner when he heard footsteps behind him, spun to face the sound. It was Boba, sliding out of the shadowed alley he’d been waiting in.

“You took a while,” Boba said, and when Din just stared at him, he laughed. Really laughed, no trace of sardonicism, and Din couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “Oh, were you going to go back to the ship? Leave the kid there?” Boba asked, “Not change your mind afterwards?”

“Fine, you’re right,” Din grunted, so Boba would stop talking and Din could stop wondering whether Boba actually knew him that well. “Let’s go get it.”

He’d gone into unadvisable places alone thousands of times, mind working in overdrive to formulate a plan to both use that to his advantage and keep it from becoming his downfall. This felt different, like needing both double and half the plan. He wasn’t alone.

The unexpectedness of his return was going to work in his favor, he knew, and felt almost thrilled at the realization that they would never, never expect him to have brought someone with him. Din made it all the way into the lab alone, and as soon as he walked in, as soon as he saw the impossibly small child surrounded by all the machinery, the relief that flooded him was the answer to the code he’d been following. Here was the foundling, and this was the way.

The doctor put up no resistance as Din shut off the machine, stayed in the corner he’d scrambled to as soon as Din pointed a blaster his way. “Don’t hurt it,” the doctor pleaded from the floor, and Din almost shot him for the hypocrisy.

“What have you done to it?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I kept it _alive,_ I saved it,” the doctor babble on. Din took the child into his arms, and it didn’t stir; Din’s pulse rate skyrocketed. “It’s alive,” the doctor repeated, “it’s just sedated, it’s alive, I kept it alive, they wanted to just extract the material and kill it –”

Din left the lab with the child. Alarms had started sounding, the sound echoing in the stone halls, followed by running footsteps that caught up with Din when he was almost, almost out. Five Stormtroopers, circling him.

“Put the asset down,” one of them ordered. “Put down your blaster, and the asset. You can’t get out.” Din obligingly set down his blaster, looking around the circle of Stormtroopers, and waited.

A Stormtrooper dropped to the ground. The others looked around in angry confusion, at Din and then back at the fallen Stormtrooper. Another fell, and then Boba appeared behind the third, while Din snatched his blaster back off the floor and shot the other two while down on one knee.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Boba said, surveying the room. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else figures it out.” He stopped, though, watching as the child stirred slightly in Din’s arms. “He’s okay, right?” Boba’s voice was tight, and he made a half-movement to reach for the child, stopped himself.

“He’s fine,” Din said, held the child out to him. “Here.” Boba accepted it into his arms and tucked it into his elbow, touched the tip of its ear with one fingertip.

“We’re back,” Boba said, so quietly Din almost couldn’t hear him. “It’s okay.”

Din almost thought nothing else would stop them. He led them back towards his ship, and everything was quiet, dark; he almost thought they would get there easily.

The movement began gradually. Running footsteps. Small noise coming from above. Something far up ahead.

“Welcome back, Mando,” Karga stood in the middle of the road, blaster drawn. The rest of the Guild surrounded him, and as Din approached, he could hear a soft chorus of beeping from the trackers all around him. “Where’s the package?”

“Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” Din replied, just as Karga’s stance suddenly changed, his blaster shifting its direction just slightly.

“Of course,” Karga said, voice filling with disdain, “I should have known what happened here. I should have known he’d capture you as soon as he found out about the Asset.” He sounded almost pitying.

“Really?” Din hissed under his breath. “Why does everyone keep thinking you’ve taken me hostage?” Boba stepped up behind him, and Din didn’t look away from Karga as he heard Boba draw his blaster. Din started to tell Boba that it was too early to start shooting and to put it away, but then –

“Because they know how valuable the child is,” Boba said. The tip of his blaster pressed into Din’s side, right in between the plates of armor, in view of the entire Guild, who all seemed to be holding their breath at the sight of him, the legend of ruthlessness and cunning that was about to make them into the latest story about him that would spread across the galaxy. This was what he was known for, this was what had made him. Suddenly, Din’s heart was beating too loudly for him to hear anything other than Boba’s voice, low and taut and familiar in the way it must have been to everyone he did this to, like they’d heard it before because they’d heard him speak through the stories about him. “And they know I’m Boba Fett.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who is reading!! i love you all so much, i am so excited to be sharing this and the comments are my WHOLE HEART. i love you guys so so much

Pieces fell together rapid-fire, as Boba pushed Din into the back of a speeder beside them, and blasterfire started ringing out through the courtyard. How _had_ Boba known Din would want the child back? What if he was just going to take it for himself, and then decided to use Din to make it easier? How far back did his plan go?

“Are you going to shoot them, or what?” Beside him, Boba was already shooting back, and what could Din do? Maybe if he survived this, if he helped take down the Guild now, it would be just the two of them afterwards – could Din take him? Din was no legend.

It was the best plan he had, though, and he didn’t want the Guild bounty hunters to have the child, either, didn’t want _anyone but him_ to have it. Maybe Boba had only asked about the child so that Din would give it to him to hold. Maybe he’d seen this as a better return to glory, maybe someone in the Empire had hired him to intercept the child. Maybe he’d planned this all along, because he’d recognized the child, hadn’t he? He must have known what it meant to the Empire, had known about the strange power it possessed before Din ever realized.

So – fine. Fine. Din was going to use Boba the same way Boba had used him; there was no doubt in his mind that Boba could somehow, miraculously, shoot his way out of here, and that would get Din past the Guild. If Boba could do this, _betray him_ like this, then Din could do it, too.

Din was having trouble focusing, even though he was being _shot at._ The guild members were everywhere, and Din was moving too haphazardly between targets, but every time he caught a glimpse of someone, suddenly they seemed like the new biggest threat. He just – he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it coming. The sight of Boba’s Beskar gauntlet flashing in the blasterfire lights made something angry well up in Din’s chest. This wasn’t – wasn’t possible, he _knew_ Boba. Din _knew him,_ not just the armor he wore, not just the tradition they both came from, but – but in the few days they’d been together, Din had thought he _knew_ Boba.

Boba had propped up his rifle, was taking down bounty hunters with startling efficiency; Din could see the child still tucked against his chest with his free arm. The way the child had cooed at Boba, complained when Din separated them – how could Boba _do this?_ There was a ruthlessness it would take that Din thought he didn’t have – despite the stories, despite the evidence, because how could all of that be Boba? He’d said _ever feel like you’ve wronged everyone in the galaxy_ like he carried every sin on his shoulders. Despite everything he’d done, everything he _was,_ Din still thought Boba was somehow, also, different.

“How,” Din started, but he couldn’t go on, not like this, and he had to ask Boba in Mando’a, their language a plea, an attempt to find the Mandalorian hiding deep within him, “how could you do this?” he spat out, like the words burned his mouth.

“On your left,” was all Boba said, in the Basic that was a stinging refusal to share anything with Din, and Din could only obey. How could he have thought he’d found who Boba really was, in the few days they’d had together? What would have made Boba open himself up to that so quickly? Din was so desperate to feel like a Mandalorian, he’d seen himself in a by-blood one who shared nothing with him.

Right when it looked like they might not make it, right when Din thought it might be over, shots started raining down from somewhere high above. His first feeling was dread, because surely the Imperials Boba was working for had come, were here to take the child from them – not from _them,_ but from Din, just Din – but no. No, it was the Mandalorians from the covert, and then, all Din could feel was a sick, crushing guilt.

They were here to help him. To help _them._ Din had all-but defended Boba to them, stood up for him and spoke Boba’s redemption with his actions, and they had believed him. Din was one of them, and so they took him at his word. They believed that Boba was one of them, for Din.

“Whoa,” Boba paused his shooting for a moment, staring as the Mandalorians descended. “What’re they doing here?”

“Helping,” Din grunted. He should tell them – but how could he, how could he admit how foolish he’d been? A real Mandalorian would have seen through this, known by sight someone who could never be redeemed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Boba said, as the very Mandalorian who had fought with Din landed near them and started shooting to hold back the bounty hunters. He’d know, soon, that he was right about Boba.

Din was going to stop Boba, as Boba ran for the ship, still holding the child, but then Din saw Karga still trailing them, waiting for his opening. If Din took the child now, Karga would know that Din was truly behind this, and it felt like an unnecessary risk. Surely Din would have a better chance of escaping if no one knew he had the child at all, if they all went after Boba in another direction instead. Assuming Din didn’t kill him. _Could_ Din kill him? He could still hear the way Boba said _you gonna ride off into the sunset or can we get going, here?_ and he longed to be back there so helplessly it was agony. In that moment, he’d felt so acutely that he wasn’t alone and now, suddenly, he was alone again, reeling.

Din followed Boba as if he hadn’t noticed Karga, boarded his ship and paused before bringing up the ramp. Karga appeared just in time, blaster drawn.

“Hold it, Fett,” Karga said, and Boba turned towards him, head tilted like he found it outright absurd that Karga was addressing him. “I’m afraid I’m not sorry it’s come to this. You never have respected our code. Put down the package,” Karga said, but right before he could fire, Din shot a valve by the door, releasing hissing steam that filled the cargo hold. Boba shot Karga unhesitatingly, then hit the button to bring the ramp up.

Din turned to Boba, hand tight on his blaster, though it remained pointed at the floor. Now – now it was just the two of them left, and Din was crushingly alone.

“Can you get us the fuck out of here?” Boba said, and – and he put away his blaster, turned back the blankets to check on the sleeping child.

“What?” This was almost worse, because Boba – he knew Din. Even if Din didn’t really know him, Boba had learned him enough to see Din’s reluctance to shoot him.

“What are you waiting for?” Boba asked; he reached up and took off his helmet, tossed it into the compartment with the bed they’d been switching off sleeping in. Din wasn’t following, couldn’t string together the events that were happening into something cohesive. Boba wasn’t even looking at him.

He’d figure it out later, he decided, because he could still hear shooting coming closer to them, and it wasn’t like anyone out there understood what the hell was going on any better than he did. He rushed to the cockpit, turned on the engines, took off as quickly as he could, all the while looking over his shoulder, waiting for Boba to come in and point a blaster at him. Why hadn’t Din just _shot_ him? Why couldn’t he make himself do it?

When he did hear footsteps, once they were out of the planet’s gravity and on an unspecific trajectory _away,_ he jerked around to look at Boba.

“Well?” Din snapped, swallowed hard. “Are you going to shoot me?”

Boba stood there, still with the child cradled in his arms, helmetless. He didn’t say anything, but at Din’s words, he clenched his jaw, eyes going dark.

“Of course not,” he snarled, looked at Din with so much taken-aback anger that Din almost felt like _he_ had been the traitor, somehow.

Because – because he had been.

So much slower than they’d seemed to last time, the pieces slotted themselves into place before him. Karga had accused Boba of taking Din hostage, and Boba had taken that for the opportunity that it was. No one would be looking for Din, if they thought Boba had taken the child somewhere else without him. They still had the trackers, and Boba had worked to take away as many pieces of information from them as he could to counteract that. No one would know what Din had done; it would leave Boba carrying it all on his shoulders, but in that split second, he’d stepped up to take it.

And when he’d spoken to Din – _And they know I’m Boba Fett,_ he’d said, and as Din re-heard it in his mind, he heard something familiar in its tenseness that he hadn’t caught before. A weariness he knew from when they were together in the dark of an unfamiliar planet, a resignedness he knew from when they were in this cockpit together and Boba asked _why were you there?_ like he couldn’t believe anyone would have come to find him. Forgetting it felt like forgetting everything they’d said to each other. Speaking the words out loud felt like watching the Stormtrooper touch the child’s cradle; only when watching Boba’s expression turn to one of hateful anger did he realize that it had started out as a grateful calm. He’d stood there, the child safe in his arms, thinking that everything was finally okay, for the fleeting moments before he realized what Din was seeing in him. Before he was angry, he was hurt. 

In Boba’s arms, the child was blinking awake, squirming and starting to cry in panicked little exhales. “Hey,” Boba murmured, and the cries suddenly stopped. The child’s ears perked up, and it gave a questioning coo. “Yeah,” Boba said, turning his back on Din and leaving the cockpit. “You’re back with us,” Din heard him telling the child, the child giving comforted sounds when it heard Boba’s voice.

Din had been so sure about Boba, right up until the first sign that he was wrong, and then – what had all his sureness been worth then? He’d believed it immediately.

He plotted in a course for Sorgan on a whim, then followed Boba below deck. The doors to the bed compartment were closed, and Din sighed heavily.

“Any objections to going to Sorgan?” he called through the doors. No response. Din leaned his shoulder against the wall, half wanting to open the doors himself. He was more than half sure he’d be shot if he tried, though. “If you don’t, that’s where we’re going.”

“Go where you want,” Boba snapped back at him. “I don’t have you held hostage.”

“I figured – it has no star port, no industrial centers. No population density,” Din kept going, compelled to explain himself, like he could redeem himself in the transparency. “Real backwater skug hole. Nobody would find us there.”

There was a long pause. “Kid’s trying to sleep,” was all Boba said. Din pulled himself away from the doors and returned to the cockpit alone.

Sorgan was densely forested, bursting with emerald hues that filled the viewscreen as Din landed the Razor Crest in a small clearing. As he powered off the engines, he heard the ramp being released, and hurried to catch up. No doubt Boba was in a mood to leave him behind entirely.

Outside, the forest was quiet, the only sound rustling branches as a breeze blew through the clearing. The child toddled by Boba’s feet, intermittently holding up pebbles and rocks for him to inspect. Din wanted to ask why Boba was even accompanying him, as Boba followed him into the trees, but Din suspected he already knew the answer. This was where they would part ways. He didn’t want to hear Boba say it.

They walked in silence until they came upon a small wooden building busy with visitors. The child, who Din had been carrying since it became too tired to walk very early on, perked up in his arms at the smell of food. Din went inside, looked over his shoulder to see if Boba was still following as he sat the child at an empty table. The entire way here, he had to keep listening for the jangle of spurs to make sure Boba hadn’t decided to leave just yet. Anytime now, he was going to. There was no reason to stay with someone who had immediately thought Boba had turned on him at the slightest provocation.

“Welcome, travelers,” a woman approached the table, like she was somehow unaware that one of the Mandalorians was about to leave the other, that there had been a betrayal between them so recently. She smiled. “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” Din said; the child cooed with interest.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck! I just took down a grinjer so there’s plenty. Can I interest either of you in a porringer of broth as well?” she asked; Boba shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Din.

“Just the one.”

“Very well.” Over her shoulder, Din spotted an out-of-place woman with even more out-of-place tattoos; when he asked the waitress for information, she could only tell him that the woman had been around for maybe a week, and that there wasn’t much of a reason for anyone to be on Sorgan, really. When Din next looked over, she was gone; he heard Boba rise from the table and leave, but he couldn’t cut off the woman in time to stop him.

“Keep an eye on the kid,” he said, sliding her a coin, and made his way to the nearest door. Noise drew him around the side of the building, where he found the woman he’d seen earlier, currently in the middle of bodily throwing Boba into the wall.

“Hey!” Din barked, as Boba hit the building and crashed to the floor; Boba rolled onto his side, and the woman didn’t take her eyes off of him, but also refrained from lunging at him again.

“You after me, too?” the woman asked, and Boba scoffed from the ground.

“You’re too small-time for me,” he said scornfully.

“You don’t even know who I am!”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I know who _you_ are –”

“Yeah, _exactly.”_

They were cut off by a slurping sound, and all three turned. The child stood watching them, impossibly tiny amidst the paused chaos, placidly drinking from its soup cup.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” Boba said, got to his feet and scooped the child into his arms. The child held up its cup to him. “No, that’s just for you.”

“Want to join us?” Din asked the woman, who shrugged. She was watching Boba holding the child like it was the strangest thing she’d ever seen.

She joined them at their table, and explained to Din that she had been a shocktrooper, and that she’d assumed he had a tracking fob for her.

“That’s why I came at you so hard,” she added to Boba, who shook his head.

“I’m not in the Guild,” he said flatly.

“And I don’t have a tracking fob for you,” Din added, “we’re here for unrelated reasons.”

“Well, this has been a real treat,” she said, “but unless either of you wants to go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.”

“I’m not staying,” Boba said, and Din swallowed hard. The woman pushed her chair back and left the table.

“Looks like this planet’s taken, then,” Din said to the child, who cooed at him. “We’ll…” he trailed off. If he couldn’t stay here, and he couldn’t convince Boba to come to another planet with them – this was it, then. Barring some divine intervention, this was it.

The intervention came in the form of two men who nearly pounced on Din as soon as they left the restaurant. “We need your help,” one blurted out.

“With what?”

“Raiders,” the other said.

“What, do you think I’m some kind of mercenary?” Din asked; if they needed his help, he’d have to stay here for a while. Maybe Boba would stay to help him, if he didn’t have anywhere else to go yet.

“You are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor,” the first said, and Boba huffed out a breath. 

“Get to it,” he snapped.

“I’ve read a lot about your people,” the first man continued earnestly, looking between them, “Um, tribe. If half of what I’ve read is true –”

“We have money!” the other chimed in.

“How much?” Boba asked, without much reduction in hostility. At their feet, the child toddled between them.

“Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen. Of krill, we’re krill farmers.”

“It’s not enough,” Boba said. He reached down and picked the child up off the ground; it very deliberately handed him a rock, and he held onto it, and the next three it pressed into his palm. “Where do you keep getting these?” he whispered to the child, after the fifth rock it produced and handed him; Din wanted so badly for him to stay, felt suddenly like his knees might buckle.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know the job yet!”

“What is the job?” Din interrupted, before Boba could refuse again. This was his only hope, even if it was more of a stay of execution.

“Please, it’s the raiders, we just want our land back from them but there’s nothing we can do ourselves, we’re just farmers, in the middle of nowhere –”

“Sure,” Din said, and Boba muttered under his breath beside him. “I’ll need those credits,” he added, a plan forming readily in his mind. They would do this, and maybe if he hired the shock trooper, she wouldn’t protest them staying on the planet alongside her; if Din could just _stay,_ if he could just keep them here a while longer, he could prolong this, all of this.

Din kept an eye on Boba as they returned to the ship to grab some supplies, but he didn’t appear to be making a break for it. He just carried things from the ship in silence, and climbed onto the back of the wagon alongside Din when they went to locate the shock trooper, waited there while Din spoke to her. She wasn’t difficult to convince, mostly because her current living situation appeared to be a campsite, and the village offered actual lodging.

“Oh, great,” she said, as she walked with Din back to the wagon, “he’s coming, too.”

“You know him?” Din asked, and she rolled her eyes. Considering she’d been recently shouting about how she knew exactly who Boba was and what that entailed, it was admittedly a dumb question. Din wasn’t at his most functional.

“It’s best to know the enemy. Speaking of, I’m Cara.” She climbed into the wagon, chose a spot as far from Boba as she could. He ignored her, anyways. “So we’re basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?” she asked, as the wagon lurched ahead.

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked, that’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Besides, I can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

“What about what you brought with you?” Cara said, with a pointed look at Boba.

“I’m not staying long,” he said, and Din’s stomach lurched. Probably from the motion of the wagon. “I’ll be off your planet before you know it.”

“There’s no rush,” Din said, maybe too quietly, because neither seemed to hear him. The child climbed into his lap, patted Din’s chest with its tiny hand. It probably had no idea Boba was leaving; it knew the two of them as the ones who always came back for it, had never known them to be apart for long. Maybe it wouldn’t recognize Din when he became alone again, because it had never known one Mandalorian without the other. Din wanted to promise _you’ll still have me,_ but – not like this, not the way he was now. Din wouldn’t be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream with me on tumblr about softest!bobafett!! (icehot13)   
> also in case you'd like my personal soundtrack to this:   
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7bXuu6xGQc3Pds0YGfl2Iz?si=_PUweKq1R3GME1PRJ-Jt3g   
> i am very proud and also i have it on repeat so i'm working on making it longer so my work day isn't just this playlist nine times


	9. Chapter 9

They reached the village in the late morning; Din couldn’t stop himself from trying, desperately, to find the right moment to talk to Boba. The villagers flooded over to greet them, they were shown the barn that would be their lodging, they unloaded all the weapons and supplies from the wagon, and right when the space was emptying out and Din thought he might get a moment, a woman showed up with food for them. He was grateful, really, he was, but it also meant he watched Boba leave the barn to find the child and make sure it ate.

“So you really don’t take that off, huh?” Cara’s voice came from the doorway. “The helmet,” she added, as though Din might not know what she was referring to.

“Not in front of others.”

“Do they come after you and kill you if you take it off?”

“No. You just can’t ever put it back on again.”

“That’s it?” Cara arched an eyebrow; Din couldn’t blame her for not understanding. She didn’t see it as an exile from a home, just a piece of armor he’d stop himself from using. “Are you all like that? Is he?” she tilted her head back to indicate somewhere beyond the barn, where Din supposed Boba was. It felt like a glaring omission, that he didn’t have an instinct that informed him of Boba’s exact whereabouts.

“He… went his own way a long time ago.” Boba took his helmet off all the time, it seemed; maybe having it carry little meaning was freeing, but Din kept wondering if it felt more like being unmoored, untethered, nothing to cling to that would always show him the way home.

“So he’s taken it off in front of you?”

“Well,” Din hesitated. It may have meant little to Boba now, but it might have meant something to him before, the way it still did for Din. Telling a stranger how thoroughly he’d left their tradition still felt wrong. There were so few of them left, so few people in the galaxy who would understand it for what it was; maybe he was counting on that. “It was an extenuating circumstance.”

“Are you guys _working_ together? You don’t really seem the type for what he’s known for. I mean, right now, neither does he,” Cara came further into the barn, over to the window. Through it, Din could see the child; the village children were playing with it, rolling a ball towards it exceedingly gently. Boba stood nearby, watching, arms crossed.

“Not technically.”

“Are you friends?” she narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t… seem like it. Is this a hostage situation or something? Did he take you and your kid hostage?”

Why did _everyone_ think that? Din wasn’t the hostage type, he liked to think. But – technically, he’d thought the same thing. Every time he remembered, he felt guiltier. He should have known. Somehow, he should have known, because they were both Mandalorians, and something in him should have been able to recognize that. He kept expecting everyone else to see a connection between them that he himself hadn’t.

“I have no idea what we’re doing, but no, he didn’t take us hostage.”

“Why do you have a tiny green baby, anyways? Where did you find it?” she gave him the same squinting look he was starting to find familiar, and annoying.

“You should go eat,” Din said firmly, “and afterwards, we’ll go see what raiders have everyone so nervous.”

“Why are _you_ doing this, anyways?” Cara asked. “I obviously need somewhere to live, but you could easily leave the planet.”

“They need our help, it’s the right thing to do.”

“So then, why stick with him?” She tilted her head towards the window again. “You’re helping people on a random planet for basically nothing. I’m sure you spent whatever money they gave you on hiring me. I _know_ what he’s famous for, and it is not saving helpless villages.”

“It just… happened. He almost died, and I helped him.” Din shrugged, felt his face grow hot under the scrutiny. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t justify it. They were both bounty hunters, but Din went through the Guild, and Boba worked for the Empire; if the Empire wanted someone dead, it was likely the victim hadn’t been the one doing wrong. They were both Mandalorians, but Boba had walked away from that a long time ago. They were the same only in that they began in the same place, but somehow, here they were again, paths crossing once more.

Cara left the barn, and Din had the place to himself for at least an hour. The village children were fascinated with the child, who seemed delighted with the attention, and Boba was keeping his distance from Din. When Cara came to collect Din for their preliminary investigation, she didn’t detour to the courtyard where Boba and the child were, and Din didn’t stop her, just followed her out of the village and into the surrounding forest.

They walked in silence for a while; sunlight filtered through the trees, and the only sounds were small animals and birds flickering by overhead. Without his HUD screen, Din wouldn’t have thought the place was penetrable by anything sinister, but they were following the footsteps of at least fifteen raiders, their footsteps glowing on his helmet viewscreen.

“What I really don’t understand,” Cara said, and her expression was so focused that Din stopped walking. “Is why _he’s_ still here.”

“Who?” Din drew his blaster immediately, scanning the area, but saw no one. Belatedly, he realized Cara hadn’t moved to draw her weapon at all, and was just standing still, a hand on her hip.

“Who? Boba Fett!” Cara waved her free hand in exasperation. Din sighed, and replaced the blaster in its holster. “Galactic asshole, who brings the good guys in for the Empire. Probably kicks ewoks in his spare time. Why is _he_ still here? Why not just go, instead of wasting time on this? I’m sure there’s plenty of dirty money to be made out there.”

“We should really get going,” Din tried, but Cara stayed put. “I don’t know why he hasn’t left yet. Maybe he hasn’t found a ride. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave the kid yet.” Dread struck him suddenly, and he froze. “What if he wants to take the kid with him?”

“I doubt it, what kind of bounty hunter wants to haul a kid around?” Cara said, and then bit her lip. “Well, not that the lifestyle you have is much different than his, I guess, as far as having a baby around is concerned. Look, we can’t just stand here and wonder about the custody arrangement, okay. It’ll be fine. You have nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to work out.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, and more than a little confused; mostly, she sounded like she wished she hadn’t brought it up, because Din had been completely carried away by it. It just – wasn’t something Din had really thought out, not yet. He couldn’t say he had a plan for the child, but staying with him – that had to be part of it.

Or maybe – maybe it shouldn’t.

“Neither of us is the right choice,” Din heard himself saying, as if it wasn’t of his own volition; it felt like opening up a black hole in his chest, a growing void that was pulling him into nothingness. “It should stay here, shouldn’t it? That would be what’s really best for it. A peaceful village with good people.”

“Um. Well, um.” Cara looked around, then up. Her eyes widened. “Hey, look at that! What do you think did that to the trees?”

Din sighed, looked up obligingly. The strangely high damage to the trees and the footprint they found a few yards away heralded the next piece of bad news: an AT-ST, more of a threat than the raiders themselves were. Cara stood with her arms crossed, looking down at the massive footprint.

“This is more than I signed up for,” Cara said, like it was already over. But if it was over, then _everything_ was over. “They’ll just have to live somewhere else.”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“You cannot be serious.” She looked at him, eyes narrowed, like she knew there was something there she wasn’t seeing.

“We can’t just _accept_ this. What’s to say this won’t just happen again somewhere else? Nowhere is safe,” Din insisted, “and this isn’t finished.”

“We’ll see,” Cara conceded. She kicked a rock into the footprint, then another. “At least you brought your murder machine boyfriend, although this is Imperial, so he’s probably never gone up against it. Maybe he’s driven one.”

“He isn’t an Imperial,” Din muttered. Here it was again, the intersection of Boba’s past choices and the Empire’s needs. Was he going to leave this planet and go right back to the Empire for his next job? Had Din driven him to that? Maybe all Din had done was show Boba that he could never have anything else, that no one would ever trust him, and that to try was pointless. 

“Right now, all I need him to be is the guy who disintegrates whatever stands in his way,” Cara said, and Boba was more than that, he _was,_ but Din hadn’t treated him like it and didn’t feel like he deserved to point it out.

There was no right moment. Din had been searching for it as days passed alarmingly quickly, and he was still waiting. The plan to take out the Imperial Walker was progressing rapidly; the villagers had jumped at the chance to keep their home despite the nearly insurmountable challenge before them, and Cara reluctantly agreed to Din’s plan to take it out by sinking it into a pond. Boba said nothing, but he didn’t leave, and that was all Din could ask for, really. If Din knew what to say to Boba, it might have made the right time more recognizable, but he didn’t have the words. It didn’t help that he was never alone with Boba, couldn’t even find the right time to ask if he thought the child should stay at the village without them. Days had kept going by, but there was never a point when Din felt like he deserved what he was seeking.

Boba was the one who accompanied Din to the raiders’ camp, when the time came to draw out the raiders and their AT-ST into the trap. They were silent as they walked through the forest after the sun had set, too cautious to speak, but when they found a place outside the camp where they could see its activity from a safe distance and verified that no one could see them, Din finally spoke. Boba lay on the dirt beside him, looking through the scope of his rifle, every movement practiced and calculating, and Din found that while this wasn’t the right moment, it was the inevitable one. Boba was about to go into battle alongside him again, despite the proof that Din didn’t trust him in the midst of chaos. 

“I shouldn’t have assumed you’d turn on me,” Din said quietly. Boba didn’t reply for an endlessly long moment.

“I thought you understood.” The words were biting, short. Boba didn’t move in the slightest, still studying the camp through the scope.

“Boba –” Din tried. “ _Gedet’ye_ ,” he murmured, _please,_ but it made Boba shake his head, and get to his feet.

“Let’s get down there. We’ll stick the charges in the tent, let them know we’re there, and get out.” Just like that, he was gone, disappearing through the trees but also taking away the sliver of a window Din had caught a glimpse into. _I thought you understood,_ meaning he’d been blindsided, not just disappointed. _I thought you understood,_ and maybe he wasn’t just talking about the plan he’d tried to enact.

Part of Din felt absurdly like protesting that it wasn’t _entirely_ his fault. Because – because _look_ at what Boba had done in the past. Was it really so unfair, to assume he was doing something entirely characteristic of the bounty hunter he’d made himself out to be? If Boba had created his own image when he rejected the way of the Mandalorians, could he really be upset by how Din saw him?

Even when Boba was barely speaking to him, he still responded to Din intuitively, needing little instruction. They were effortlessly coordinated, slipping out of the trees and into the nearest tent, and Boba could read cues Din barely realized he was giving, hiding precisely where Din wanted him to, and shooting at the exact moment Din needed it. They handled the few raiders that came into the tent with ease, and Boba covered Din while he shot out their escape route, before following him back into the forest. The sound of the AT-ST powering on carried through the dark towards them as they ran in the direction of the village, gunfire following moments later.

It was, oddly, less stressful than facing the Guild. Din’s heart wasn’t racing, as he watched the AT-ST lumber into view, the raiders appearing and falling as they were shot by the villagers from behind cover. The AT-ST towered overhead, and yet, Din felt none of the world-tipping dizziness of last time, the frantic panic replaced by his usual calm. Maybe it was because he knew the child was tucked away in one of the huts at the far end of the village.

“Back left. Far left, up by the barrier,” Boba knelt beside him, giving a steady list of directives that filled in for what he couldn’t shoot at himself, neatly sweeping across the oncoming raiders.

“It’s stopping,” Din heard Cara say from his other side, just as the AT-ST did exactly that, perching on the edge of the pond. Villagers ducked for cover as its light swept across the barrier, and Din dropped to the ground, watching through the cracks as the AT-ST continued to teeter at the edge, unmoving.

“We gotta get that thing to step forward,” he said, as Cara yelled for the villagers to open fire on the incoming raiders surging forward.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Cara studied the AT-ST for a moment, then turned to Din. “Gimme the pulse rifle.”

“Aim for the back of the turret,” Boba said, as Din handed the pulse rifle to Cara, “I’ll cover you and he’ll throw in the charge.”

“Cover me,” Cara said to Din, like she didn’t believe Boba would follow through, and dove across the barrier. She at least believed Boba’s advice about the AT-ST’s weak point, and her first move was to dart between its feet to shoot at it from the back; it abruptly lost its center of balance, crashing forward into the pond. Din grabbed the charge and ran towards the AT-ST, threw the charge into the cockpit window before he slid into the other pond, ducking for cover. The ensuing explosion made the water shudder around him, and the darkness filled with the sound of the raiders scrambling to retreat.

“Good job,” Cara’s voice came from overhead, and Din looked up to see her offering a hand. He grabbed it, climbed out of the pond. “Guess they can keep their village after all.”

“Looks like it.” He watched the AT-ST sink further into the pond, the villagers cheering uproariously behind the barricade.

“Don’t make that face,” Cara said, and Din couldn’t help a chuckle. “I can tell, okay? You were hoping for months to sort out your next move, but, oh no, you had wild success almost immediately.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Din said, although his heart was in the process of sinking. There was no _we._ The village had been saved. Everything was over.

“For what it’s worth,” Cara didn’t look at him, still watching the villagers celebrating, “you caring about the kid factors into the equation.”

“People here would care for it. Like it’s their own, I’m sure. They’re good people.”

“People aren’t interchangeable,” Cara said, “the way you care about it is different than how someone else would. I’m just saying, don’t forget to count yourself.” She paused for a long moment. “Uh, in case that doesn’t convince you, there’s another thing. I shot a guild member yesterday.”

“ _What?”_

“Yeah, he had a tracker, I assumed it was for me, but I think it was for the baby.”

“You could have _opened_ with that,” Din complained, and Cara smiled brightly at him, smacked him on the arm. 

“But then you wouldn’t be keeping him because you knew it was best for him.”

“I hadn’t decided that yet,” Din muttered, although he had, and knew that deep within him. He couldn’t just leave this foundling here, in the care of people that weren’t him. Once, Din had refused to go farther than arm’s reach from the Mandalorian who had first picked him up, because in the midst of the chaos, that particular person was his safe place. The others had matching armor, but hadn’t been the one who’d carried him from the ruins; Din couldn’t hand the child to anyone who hadn’t been there at the moment it had been saved.

“Come on,” Cara beckoned him to the far side of the barricades, where the raiders had made their strongest push. “Let’s patch everyone up. I think they were pretty lucky overall, the AT-ST went down quick, so the raiders couldn’t do too much damage.”

“Okay,” Din hesitated, scanning the wall, but he didn’t see Boba. Din could find him later, after they took care of all the injured villagers; maybe by then, Din would know what to say.

Din helped Cara tend to the villagers who had been wounded, administering bacta spray and bandages; even the worst injuries weren’t overly concerning, and he admittedly hadn’t been expecting the villagers to hold their own so well in the fight. Maybe defending their home, the latest point in their long history, had fueled them more than extended training alone could have.

When Din went to find the child, he was expecting to find Boba there, too. His instinct was surely the same as Din, and he’d want to check on it. Boba wasn’t in the hut, though, and the child toddled up to Din, whimpering.

“Everything’s okay,” Din reassured, picking it up. “We’re here, it’s fine.” Except Boba wasn’t here, and Din’s heart was starting to beat faster.

“Ba?” warbled the child.

“Him, too,” Din said, then paused. “I never said his name in front of you,” he said, almost to himself. The child whined. “He taught it to you, didn’t he?”

“Ba?” the child repeated. It pointed to the door, not the one Din had come through, but the back door, leading out into the forest beyond. The black hole in Din’s chest started to grow again, just like when he’d imagined leaving the child behind, but a different kind of incompleteness. It kept expanding, and all Din could feel was emptiness, a depthless emptiness that was drawing in everything else. 

The child whimpered more forcefully as it kept pointing towards the door, insistent that Din follow the path Boba had taken at least an hour ago, maybe more. How long had Din been with the villagers? Why hadn’t Boba come to say goodbye to him, too? “I’m sorry,” Din murmured, rocking the child when its whimpers grew more frantic, “this is my fault.”

He’d lost Boba for the both of them. There had been a moment when he’d thought Boba might fight to keep the child himself, but now, Din could see that he never would. He’d let Din begin to know him, and Din had immediately assumed he was stealing the child to turn in for a bounty; he must have thought Din would never agree, that Din still harbored doubts, but then why not just _take_ the child? Maybe – maybe he didn’t think he deserved to, maybe he saw himself the way Din had, redemptionless.

“He didn’t want to hurt either of us,” Din said softly, touched the tip of the child’s ear with his fingertip.

It was a boundless place to be lost, this aloneness after losing his short-lived companion, the wake of powerful but few days. The undercurrent of guilt felt like the only gravity left, because he’d done this to them, but – so had Boba, hadn’t he? He was a legend of his own making, and no matter how meaningful their few days had been, they still had to be insignificant compared to the years upon years that had come before.

 _I barely knew him,_ Din tried to remind himself, maybe to assuage the guilt but maybe to lessen the loss; it didn’t work, it couldn’t work. It didn’t feel all that true anymore.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting!!! i just love you guys so much, and all your insightful comments are pointing out things i didn't even see and helping me make this fic even sadder, which is of course a good thing. S U F F E R

Leaving Sorgan was more difficult than Din had been expecting. This was now the last place they’d been together, and he could still walk around and expect to see him at any point. The landscape around them hadn’t changed, and Din could still think he was in a day before this one – just yesterday, even. It was as necessary as difficult to leave, though, because the flip side of the same coin meant he was always expecting to find him, and the sinking feeling when he didn’t was threatening to bring Din to his knees.

He was being ridiculous, he admonished himself, as he packed up all the weaponry again, this time alone. His life had been different, but it had only been a few weeks, a blip in the grand scheme of his life. Of course, the raid that had changed every day after it had only lasted a few hours, and maybe Din had been irrevocably changed by this, too. He didn’t want to be, not if this was how it ended.

“You’re leaving already?” he heard, Cara joining him at the wagon as he leaned over the side to arrange the bed of blankets he was making for the child. “Hey, I haven’t seen murder machine since yesterday, where’s your man?” she looked around as if she might spot him; Din’s heart clenched.

“Gone.” Still, he found himself scanning the clearing, too. Empty.

“Gone?” she squinted at him like the words didn’t make sense, but how couldn’t they? It felt like a logical next step, though whether a result of Din’s mistake or a natural progression of an already-in-progress history, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if their story had pivoted the moment he’d said _are you going to shoot me?_

“Yeah. Gone. Last night.”

“Oh, well, he sure didn’t say bye to me,” Cara laughed, but her voice trailed off into silence. “Did you know he was leaving?” Din shook his head no. Cara scuffed at the dirt with the toe of her boot, suddenly finding everywhere else to look besides him. “I know it’s none of my business, but… what the hell?” she asked, so tenderly it made Din stop moving, suddenly too tired to keep going.

“Like I said, I don’t know what we were doing. But – not this.” Whatever it was, whatever state they’d been suspended in, the rest of their lives on either side, it wasn’t this. Din didn’t know what he’d wanted to come next, but _not this._ “It was just a few weeks!” he said, and it came out too forcefully, too desperate, and he lapsed into silence, jaw clenched.

“Anything can happen in a few weeks,” Cara said, “last year, I met a girl and fell in love after a day and a half. She joined the Alliance and fell for Han, and I went my own way. A couple days can change you.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Din muttered. “Maybe it only changed me.”

“Are you kidding? I heard that guy tried to murder a Jedi as a teenager, and he _disintegrated_ three rebel spies on Corsucant. Two days ago, I saw him spend an hour walking around with the baby to rock it to sleep.”

“Well,” Din swallowed hard. “He’s gone, so. Guess it wasn’t enough.” He resumed putting things into the back of the wagon until there was nothing left, and Cara watched in silence the entire time. She didn’t help, like maybe she knew he was dragging it out as much as possible.

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured, and that was the moment Din almost, almost fell apart. Cara didn’t even have to ask, to know how deeply this had left him reeling, could see that he was different from the way he’d been on the other side of this. “Are you going to look for him?” she asked, and Din shook his head no sharply. “You guys deserve better,” she said softly, but he’d been the best. There weren’t legends about what he’d been to Din, but it was equally unmatched, an unprecedentedness the galaxy would never know.

Things failed to improve, when they left Sorgan. Immediately after leaving, they were set upon by yet another bounty hunter, and while Din escaped easily, the emergency landing for ship repairs brought the next piece of bad luck. Of course, of course, Tatooine was the nearest planet. Din was furious at the coincidence. _Tatooine._

He didn’t want to be here. Not this planet, not now. What had happened here – it felt like a personal offense now, now that he’d heard the thousand-year hollowness in the word _Sarlacc_. But more than that, it felt like – like trespassing, like coming somewhere personal and meaningful to someone else, a place he had no right to be.

The repairs the Crest needed were extensive, and Din had no choice but to find work so he could pay them off, although he didn’t know what came next, where he was going to go once his ship was functional again. All he could do, his only and recently most frequent move, was to keep going forward. Leaving Sorgan had been the first nearly-impossible step forward, but he’d gone immediately, couldn’t stay and keep looking at the village where they’d been.

Mos Eisley felt unwelcoming. Din couldn’t tell if he was bringing that feeling with himself, or if it radiated up from the ground. He didn’t want to be here; he didn’t want the child to be on this planet, even tucked away on the ship. He didn’t like leaving the child alone there, either, didn’t like how he could no longer just turn and place the child in safe, waiting arms.

He passed a collection of Stormtrooper helmets on pikes; it may have been meant as a threat or a proud icon of resistance, but all he could think about was the Clone Troopers. There was a cantina just past the helmets, and Din ducked inside, ready to stop seeing Mos Eisley. He approached the counter, where an EV-series supervisor droid was bartending.

“Hey, droid. I’m a hunter. I’m looking for some work.”

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” the droid informed him placidly. Din wished they wouldn’t use words like _unfortunately;_ it just served to point out that they didn’t feel sorry when they said it, the words always meaningless platitudes to a droid. 8

“I’m not looking for Guild work.” Would he ever again? He didn’t know what he was going to do for work now, and he was just too tired to think about it. All he wanted to do was return to the Crest, where he’d left the child, where it wasn’t being held or talked to or sung to, and once he remedied that, maybe then he could think about what could happen next. Had anyone ever sung to it? Maybe not long before, but he had the suspicion that it may have happened recently. Suddenly, it was harder to breathe.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation. At least by my calculation,” the droid said, not sounding particularly sorry. Maybe Din was reading too much into the expressionism of a machine.

“Think again, tin can,” a voice came from behind Din, and he turned to survey the speaker. A man lounged in the nearest booth, feet up on the table, smirking. “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friend. Name’s Toro. Toro Calican.” He sounded like someone Din didn’t want to deal with, and Din sighed. He wanted to go back to the ship, wanted this to be over with. “Come on, relax.”

There didn’t appear to be any other readily available way to make money, so Din sat. Anything that got them away from Tatooine as soon as possible would do, he supposed, even this already-exhausting prospect.

“Picked up this bounty puck before I left the Mid-Rim,” Toro said, placing a puck on the table. “Fennec Shand, an assassin.” Din was suddenly so much more tired. He debated just standing and leaving. Surely there was other work. “Heard she’s been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

“I know the name,” Din said, when Toro looked to him expectantly for a reaction. Of course he knew the name.

“Yeah, well, I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she’d headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job,” Toro went on, eyes bright, earnest. Din sighed. Of all the bounties to come across accidentally, Shand? He’d heard of her – she’d also worked for the Hutts.

“Well, good luck with that.” Din stood. He wasn’t about to put himself through this, put himself anywhere near this circle of associated people.

“Wait, wait, wait, hey, I thought you needed work!” the man cried, and Din stopped. He couldn’t, he supposed, let this brand-new bounty hunter get himself killed so easily.

“How long you been with the Guild?”

“Long enough.”

“Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates. If you go after her, you won’t make it past sunrise. Those syndicates only hire the best.”

Only legends, really.

“Wait!” Toro followed when Din tried again to leave the cantina, “this is my first job! You can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can’t do it alone.” He wouldn’t make it very far, being unable to work alone. That was how Din had always worked, and if he didn’t take this job, the next one he found – he’d probably be working alone again. It felt like such a long, long time since he’d worked alone.

“Meet me at hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring two speeder bikes, and give me the tracking fob.”

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when Toro opted instead to smash the puck against the wall and grin at him. It was a bravado move, fitting someone much more storied than him.

“Don’t worry. Got it all memorized.”

“Half an hour,” Din barked, and strode out of the cantina. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the hanger, boarded his ship, and finally, finally could see that the child was fine.

The child was gone. The door to the bed compartment was open and the child was gone.

“Kid?” he called, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. “Kid, where’d you go?” it was gone, it was gone, it was _so small_ and Din had left it alone and it was _gone._ He raced back out of the ship, thoughts filling with the droids he’d seen when they’d arrived, the droids he’d seen decades ago, and someone had come in here, someone had taken the child –

Din bolted for the hangar, towards the repair shop office. “Hey!” he rounded on the first droid he saw, “where is he?!” he roared; the droid sprang into a ball, quivering. Then he heard the tiny cry. From the office, he could hear the child crying, and he whirled towards the door.

There – there. The repair woman, Peli, she was holding the child. It was crying, but just its woken-up-from-a-nap cry. That was all. Din took deep breaths, his heart still thudding too quickly.

“Give him to me,” he demanded, as Peli shushed the child.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?” she complained. “And, not so fast. You’ve got an awful lot to learn about raising a young one! You can’t just leave a child all alone like that.”

“It wasn’t,” Din started, but – it was alone, this time. He itched to take the child from her, even though it was now cooing and blinking sleepily, content. Peli was talking, about the fuel leak being repaired, about how she didn’t use droids, per his request, how it took longer but she knew he was good for the money. She didn’t point out again that he should have left the child with someone, maybe because she knew there was no one else, not anymore, just Din.

“Thank you,” Din managed. He wanted to take the child, retreat to the ship, apologize for leaving it alone like that, but he could hear Toro arriving outside the hangar, started in that direction instead.

“Well, I guess I was right!” Peli exclaimed, “You got a job, didn’t you? You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up.” She followed him to the exit, still talking.

“Hey, Mando!” Toro called, as Din reached him and the two speeder bikes he’d acquired. “What do you think? Not too shabby, huh?”

Din touched the handlebar of one of the speeders, thought of the planet where there had been no speeders, nothing but blurrg and the sunset no one had ridden off into. When he looked at his new bounty hunting partner, he didn’t feel any less alone.

Working with Toro was painful. He wasn’t particularly bad, not technically, but he wasn’t _intuitive_. He didn’t understand when Din wanted him to be quiet in front of the Tusken Raiders, questioned giving him the binocs as though his intent to trade them for safe passage wasn’t completely obvious, took cover too slowly and conspicuously looked over the dune at the same time Din did. It was ridiculous, to feel so unseen and so misunderstood, he knew it didn’t _matter,_ that this kid was nothing to him, but it was alienating in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Toro looked at him like he was a walking mystery, and Din was so tired of being nothing but galaxy-known armor.

They found Shand, out in the middle of the desert, with nothing but clear visibility for miles. That was Tatooine, though, an endless desert and hidden history beneath the earth, everything eventually swallowed back up by the sand, endlessly visible until it disappeared. She saw them coming, probably from miles away, waited until Din was close enough to shoot at. The Beskar deflected the shot well enough, but it sent Din to the ground, sent Toro into a panic. Din had to dive behind the ridge of sand, another shot catching his armor and throwing him all the way over.

“What happened?” Toro gasped, as Din rolled onto his front, sighed.

“Sniper bolt. Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot,” Din said. Toro hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t been able to be that effective a lookout. Din felt unwatched over, abruptly vulnerable.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Hit me in the Beskar. And at that range, Beskar held up.”

“Wait,” Toro blinked at him. “I don’t wear any Beskar.”

“Nope.” His gaze drifted to where Toro lacked a Beskar gauntlet, which would have been shining in the sun, matching Din’s.

They had to wait until dark, and once it had fallen, put Din’s plan into motion. It was easy enough to speed towards Shand, alternating flash charges to blind her scope until they got close, even though Toro’s timing was slightly off, never precisely what Din wanted. They ended up with Shand in handcuffs, they were successful, but it was just bumpy enough, just close enough, that the whole experience left Din feeling like he was speaking a foreign language, one in which Toro could speak only the basics.

“Good work partner,” Toro declared, looking proudly at their handcuffed charge. Din tried to stop his shoulders from slumping.

“Why don’t you go and find your blaster,” Din told him, waving a hand towards where Shand had knocked it.

“A Mandalorian,” Shand said, looking up at him from the ground, eyes a dangerous bright. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind. You guys aren’t what you were anymore, are you?” Din didn’t respond, just watching her, couldn’t manage to work up any anger. “Ever been to Nevarro? I hear things didn’t go so well there. Looks like you got off easy, guess he really has lost his touch.”

“You don’t have to worry about getting to Nevarro,” Toro contributed, picking up his fallen blaster from the sand, “or anywhere else, once we turn you in. You know, I really should thank you. You’re my ticket into the Guild.”

“You’re welcome.” Shand stood when Toro beckoned, followed them down the hill. “So did he let you go because you’re a Mandalorian?” she asked Din, looking over his shoulder back at him. Din clenched his jaw, said nothing. “Don’t tell me you killed him?” she snorted. “Wouldn’t that be something. Solo would be laughing his ass off if he knew, back from the dead only to be killed by a Mandalorian.” So people could look at Din, too, and think he’d turned traitor in the same way. No one was seeing anything between them.

“Who are you talking about?” Toro asked, but Din ignored him. They reached the speeder at the bottom of the hill, and Shand looked back at them, smirking.

“Uh-oh,” Shand laughed, “looks like one of us has to walk.”

“Or we could drag you.” Din was ready to volunteer to walk, really, he was through listening to either of them talk. “I need you to go and find that dewback we saw,” he told Toro, who made a face.

“And leave you here? With my bounty and my ride? Yeah, I don’t think so, Mando,” Toro scoffed, and it felt again like speaking the wrong language. Din was _telling_ him to go get the dewback and that Din would wait here for him, but he just couldn’t impress his meaning upon Toro.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Din wanted to be alone for a while, anyways. Not alone like this, this new and alienating aloneness when in the company of someone else. This never would have bothered him before. “Watch her. Don’t let her get near the bike. She’s no good to us dead.”

Even as he walked away, Din knew Toro was going to turn on him. He was just – just too tired to think of a way out of it. He wanted to go home and see the child, make sure it was okay and happy and wasn’t feeling the loneliness as deeply as he was. It still had him, and he wanted to be there to make sure that was enough. Maybe there was a way to keep this bounty, but the easiest thing to do, the only thing he had the energy to do, was find his own ride back, and let Toro carry out the betrayal Din saw coming from a mile away. It didn’t hurt; maybe it was the obviousness, and Din wanted badly to believe that, to un-know that it was his lack of attachment to Toro that made this betrayal painless.

It took hours. Long, silent hours, and riding the dewback was just like riding blurrg, except the sun had long since set and was coming up alongside its twin far across the desert, and no one was laughing.

Shand was dead, when Din returned. He’d come to check only because he was curious as to whether Toro would team up with her or kill her; Din climbed off the dewback and knelt down beside her body to retrieve his cuffs. He stopped midway through removing them, stared.

Toro hadn’t shot Shand. He’d probably intended to, but the shot that had killed her had come from a great distance behind her. Din turned, squinted into the distance. There was a small rocky outcropping, where someone could have hidden, shot her from afar. This, Din hadn’t seen coming, although the arrival of another bounty hunter wasn’t exactly surprising. They’d seen a dead one while riding in, and someone of Shand’s caliber would have plenty of hunters coming for her.

At least it was over. Din could return to the ship, and try again tomorrow to find work, alone. He rode the dewback into Mos Eisley, passing the Stormtrooper helmets as he crossed the town to reach the hangar.

Toro’s speeder was parked outside the hangar. Din hastily tied up the dewback and drew his blaster; how hadn’t he guessed Toro would be coming for _him?_ Had Shand told Toro something? Toro was foolhardy enough to take on the complicated mess that was the child’s bounty, to think he could somehow manage to take the child from Din. No one could. No one who hadn’t been there to save the child would ever take it from Din.

“Took you long enough, Mando,” he heard as he entered the hangar. Toro was standing on the Crest’s ramp, holding the child in one arm, a blaster pointed at Peli beside him. Din’s grip on his blaster was so tight that his fingers ached. He unlatched a grenade from his belt, clenched it in his other hand. “Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” All Din could do was obey, teeth clenched as he dropped the blaster, raised his hands. Toro still stood there, still holding the child. “Cuff him,” Toro instructed Peli, prodding her forward with the blaster until she took the cuffs from him and approached Din slowly. Her eyes were filled with apology, but when she noticed the grenade in his hand, a bright relief crossed her face.

“You’re smarter than you look,” she whispered.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Toro jeered, and Din could have laughed, if Toro wasn’t saying it while holding the child. A _Guild_ traitor? Din couldn’t bring himself to care. Of all that he’d betrayed, the Guild was the least of his worries.

“And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary,” Toro said, and – legendary? _Legendary?_ This failure of a bounty hunter who had brought in nothing, caught no one, who lacked enough cunning to force fate to tip its hand to him, with a name the galaxy had never heard and would never remember, who didn’t rip himself from a tradition of warriors and set the galaxy ablaze with the sound of his own name, thought he was a _legend?_

Din set off the grenade, and bolted through the blinding light until he reached the side of the ramp; Toro’s blaster fire echoed through the hangar, but Din’s shot was the last to ring out. Toro went down – no legend at all.

“Where is it?” Peli was asking, as Din rushed to turn over Toro’s body, searching. “Oh,” she sighed out from behind him, and the relief in her voice made all the tension in Din’s body bleed away. “There you are. Are you hiding from us?” Din rose to his feet, turned to see Peli cradling the child, and it was safe, safe. “Look at you, it’s alright. I know that was really loud for your big old ears, wasn’t it? It’s okay.”

Din snagged the coin purse from Toro’s body before standing, didn’t want to have to look at him again, and turned to Peli. “Be careful with him,” she said as Din took the child from her arms, but her voice was gentle. “I take it you didn’t get paid?”

The child chirped, touched Din’s armor with its tiny hand. Din held the purse out to Peli without taking his gaze from the child; he just wanted to check that it was okay, be sure. “That cover me?” he asked, as she plucked the purse from his hand.

“Oh, wow. This’ll cover you.” Peli watched the child for a while, and when Din glanced at her, she was smiling. “Sweet kid,” she said, “not much of a talker, but he’s a cutie.”

“He only knows one word,” Din said, swallowed hard.

He thanked Peli for her work and brought the child into the ship, closing the ramp on Tatooine behind them. Up in the cockpit, the child was restless, didn’t want to sit in its cradle or Din’s lap; Din watched it, one elbow propped on the console, unable to make himself move to start the engines. The child gave a warbling cry, wandering around the cockpit.

“Ba?” it whined, came to hold its hands up to Din with impatient little waves. Din scooped it up again.

“He’s not here,” Din said, “he’s – he’s not going to be anymore.” The child tilted its head, clearly asking why, needing to know _why._ “It’s okay to miss him. We can – we can miss him together.” The child slumped down in Din’s lap, sniffling.

“Ba,” it whimpered, and there was a resignedness in its voice that broke Din. Did it _have_ to be this way? Did the child have to accept a world with only half of what it had grown to rely on? It had so little, did it have to lose half of everything it had suddenly gained?

Din had found him once before, that had to mean something. When the galaxy was wondering whether he was dead or alive, Din had known where to find him, before they’d ever met. Maybe he’d be able to do it again.

He took Toro’s speeder, tucked the child into a soft backpack and rode as slowly as the speeder could manage. The child didn’t protest, suddenly happy to sit completely still without complaint. He left Mos Eisley and rode north; late afternoon came and left, followed by a twilight that spread across the sand cooling everything it touched. When Din finally arrived, he helped the child to climb out of the backpack and held it in his arms, both of them silent as they looked ahead.

Din could always find him; it had to mean something, that he had a map etched into his chest that would always lead him to the right place. Once Mustafar, this time the Great Pit of Carkoon, and maybe he’d always know, or maybe he wouldn’t need to look any further than his own side.

The child pointed to the figure at the top of the hill that overlooked the Sarlacc. This had almost been the place where the legend had ended, and now here he was, silhouetted against the desert above the Sarlacc pit, and among all the planets he’d wronged and lives he’d destroyed, his name still echoed throughout the galaxy.

“Ba,” the child whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm icehot13 on tumblr if you wish to see the behind the scenes screaming that accompanies this fic


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sooner than i'd intended to post the next chapter (because i have noooothing yet after this) but i just!!! i can't wait!!!!! i love you guys so much, the enthusiasm for this fic is UNREAL. 
> 
> with huge thanks to Aboreal for talking me through Din and his creed, and for an extremely sad point made in a comment that broke my whole heart so naturally i needed to borrow it for boba fett!!!
> 
> Edit: now with stealth edits to the end since I totally missed the mark. Oops

Boba didn’t turn around, as Din climbed the hill towards him. He sat at the top of the hill, looking down at the Sarlacc pit; they were a safe distance away, although it felt to Din like there was nowhere in the galaxy that could be safe enough from this. He approached slowly, and when he reached Boba, he wordlessly leaned down and placed the child into Boba’s arms. Boba didn’t look up, but he bowed his head, held the child tight against his chest.

“Ba,” the child cooed, and all the heartbroken resignedness had fled its voice; it wiggled happily, gazing up at him. Din sank down beside them, sat looking down at the pit.

“When I was twenty,” he said slowly, gaze still on the Sarlacc, “I went back to the village where my parents had been killed. I couldn’t forget anything about it, but I wanted to see it again. Not to see the place, but to see it as a different version of myself. It felt like the only way to know that I’d gotten past it. I wanted to see it from the other side.” He took a slow breath, looked over at Boba. “That’s how I knew you’d be here,” he said, answering Boba’s unasked question. His own hovered only momentarily in the air between them, _did you know I was coming,_ slowly sinking as he watched how tightly Boba held onto the child, like he’d thought he’d never see it again.

Boba was tracing his fingertip along the child’s ear, staring down at it. “No one else ever thinks to look. They just wait to hear what happened next.” Din had never thought of it that way, but Boba must have, all along; he was a legend everyone trailed behind, hearing his latest brutal victory after it was won. It must have felt like living in an untouchable future, no one ever coming to save him, just an audience waiting for the past-tense retelling. “I’m the same thing I always was,” Boba said, voice hoarse, “of course you would think I’d turn on you. It’s what I do.”

“You haven’t done it to me.”

“Thought about it. After everything you did for me, there was a second where I thought about it. Probably would have kept them from wanting to kill me for fucking up on Mustafar,” Boba said. Din should have known Boba would consider it, even momentarily; it was easier to recognize, now that Boba was still beside him. Of course he’d thought about it, even if he couldn’t go through with it. Whoever had hired him would want him dead now that he’d proved his uselessness. “They told me the admiral I let escape is trying to hire a mercenary, now that he knows he’s been found. They told me to kill her before she could be hired. Probably just because I was already here.”

“Fennec Shand,” Din said, and Boba angled his head just enough to look at Din, questioning. “I was working with a bounty hunter going after her.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Killed him. He tried to take the little one.”

“Guess I got off easy, then,” Boba said, but his voice was too weary to make it a joke. Din shifted close enough that he could bump Boba’s shoulder with his own.

“You didn’t turn on us.” He reached to touch the child’s tiny hand, resting on Boba’s Beskar gauntlet. “You didn’t have to leave.”

“You guys are safer without me.”

“Of course we’re not,” Din said, before he realized what Boba was saying, why he’d left them. They were safe _from_ him, if he wasn’t there. “I don’t know you that well,” Din said slowly, “but I know what you were. I can tell that you’re not the same anymore.”

Din had heard every story, knew every bounty; he could see the mismatch between the past and the present. He didn’t know Boba well enough to recognize the reason, but he could see its effects. Boba could be anywhere, doing anything, and instead, he’d been with them, risking his life to help Din save the child, staying with them. Cara had seen it too, completely bewildered by the sight of Boba with the child, staying to save the village; Boba had met with something that changed him just enough, and it didn’t seem to be something he could ignore.

“I can’t get out. They’re not just going to forget they hired me to kill the admiral and I failed. And sooner or later, they’ll figure out I’m with the kid.”

“They’ll know it escaped either way. Wouldn’t you rather be there, the day they come for it? It needs you to protect it.”

“It has you.”

“Don’t make me do it alone,” Din said, and it came out more seriously than he’d intended, like something within him felt this more deeply, made it a plea. “Look, I can admit I don’t know how to extract someone from a lifetime serving the Empire. But you never have to continue the way you’re going.”

This was what they _came_ from. _Cin vhetin,_ the clean slate all had when becoming Mandalorians, a tradition of redemption, of being judged on their future and not their past. This was in Boba’s blood. Boba didn’t seem to be hearing it; his shoulders were slumped, and he was staring out at the Sarlacc pit.

“If I’m not this, I’m nothing,” Boba said; maybe Din didn’t know him entirely, but he knew enough to recognize Boba’s particular tone of voice. This was him, proud but like he was being forced to be, simultaneously capable of anything and locked into his own inevitability. He saw himself like a terrible, unstoppable force of nature, ruthless even when aimed at himself.

“You’re a Mandalorian,” Din said softly. “We were already legends.”

The suns had sunk beneath the horizon, synchronized in their fall. Three moons had begun their climb. Cold was seeping into the sand, and the Sarlacc’s tentacles swayed in the distance, reaching up from the pit. The child had fallen asleep in Boba’s arms. Din _knew_ he couldn’t leave Boba here. Not on this planet. Not in this place. Din wasn’t leaving without him, because even if Boba didn’t know who he was anymore, Din was starting to see who Boba wanted to be.

“I’ll tell you what you are,” Din said, “you’re the one who saved the kid with me. You protected me from the Guild. When I’m with other people, I’m still alone, but when I’m with you –” Din swallowed. Paused. “Starting from Mustafar, you might not have been the same as you were before, but you’re –” he sought the right words, but he knew he wouldn’t find them in Basic. “ _Ner werlaara,”_ he murmured.

 _My legend._ Boba was a legend in Din’s life now, a monumental force that changed the entire world around him. The galaxy felt different, after finding him. Maybe he didn’t know Boba as well as he’d assumed, but Din could recognize in himself a before and an after, Boba at the heart of it.

“You’re coming back with me,” Din said, “it’s where you belong.”

Boba was quiet for so long, Din was afraid he’d already decided to leave, that this was the end of their chapter together, that he’d changed the world and was now leaving it, different again. Din nearly flinched in surprise when he felt a touch on his hand atop the sand, but it was just Boba, his touch a ghost around Din’s fingers, curling around them gently. Din thought his heart might stop, the entire world shrinking down to that tiny movement.

“I never want to come back here,” Boba said quietly. Din took a breath, slowly turned his hand palm-up and squeezed Boba’s fingers back.

“We never will.”

When Din had left the village that had once burned around him, he’d known he was still leaving part of himself behind, the self he would have been if none of it had ever happened. He left behind the life he would have had, firmly stranded on the other side of the ruins. When they left the Sarlacc pit, Boba didn’t look back, and Din wondered if it was because he didn’t mourn what he’d lost in quite the same way.

This time, the decision to leave Tatooine was easy. The child wasn’t restlessly wandering the cockpit, as Din fought to tear himself from a planet he both wanted to leave and needed to scour for what he’d lost. The child slept in Boba’s lap, and Din rapidly flipped switches and powered on the engines. He had no particular destination in mind yet, knew the logical thing to do was stay on Tatooine and not burn fuel needlessly, but he couldn’t bear to stay, like the planet might draw Boba back in again if he lingered too long, keep him for a thousand years.

Once Tatooine was far below them, Boba sent a message to his employer to report that Shand was dead; their reply was nearly instantaneous. “Message received. Your services are no longer required,” was all the voice recording said.

“So that’s it?” Din asked, and Boba snorted.

“Yeah. Free to go about my life,” he said, “at least until they kill me for knowing too much and being unable to do anything for them.” He reached up and took off his helmet, dropped it into the corner of the cockpit, then pulled off a glove so he could run his fingers through his hair. It curled over at the top, and the ends brushed his temple. “You,” he said, looking down at the child, “need to go to bed. In a bed.” He stood, brought the child to his shoulder and went down the ladder one-handed.

Din lingered at the cockpit as long as he could, but eventually was drawn below decks as if magnetically; at the foot of the ladder he paused, blinking at the pile of armor that lay beside the weaponry locker, and then at Boba, who sat at the foot of the bed but leaned back on one elbow to check on the blanket-swaddled child.

“I can’t take your bed,” Boba said, “if I’m – you know. Sticking around. You take the bed and I’ll go upstairs.”

“I don’t know,” Din started, but he ran out of words, no real point to make. Part of him had been about to offer to share the bed, but he hardly relished sleeping with his helmet on, and couldn’t just take it off. Mandalorians just – didn’t. Din knew that, even as he stared at Boba, with his sharp jawline and the curling ends of his hair. Boba may have known Din’s name, but not his face, and Din was a Mandalorian first.

Boba started to get up, but abruptly, the child was awake and crying his name. “Hey, no,” Boba murmured, leaning back over it; its cries quieted, but when Din took two steps towards the ladder, they ratcheted back up.

“It’s fine,” Din said, as Boba shushed the child softly. “We’ll just sit with it for a bit, until it falls asleep.” He shed the bulkiest pieces of armor and slid past Boba so he could sit with his back to the wall, the child between them, content again.

“I’ll leave once it’s asleep,” Boba said; he had his cheek propped on his fist, and he was blinking slowly like he wanted to melt into sleep. His usual broadness must have come from the armor, because without it, he looked more lean than bulky, less like he could square up with anything that faced him.

“What do we do now?” Din asked, without entirely meaning to. Boba gave an exhale that sounded like a laugh.

“I don’t know. We’ll need to fuel to do it though, so maybe we should pick up a job.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Oh, come on. With your Guild contacts and my Empire ones, we’re swimming in bounties.” He arched an eyebrow and smirked up at Din. “Maybe they’ll let me take another crack at Solo.” Din couldn’t help but snort with laughter, hopefully not loud enough to wake the child.

“If that doesn’t work out, I used to work with a guy who once shot me just to create a diversion,” Din said, then paused, considering. “Maybe I should get in touch.” Ran probably had a job up his sleeve, and he wouldn’t care what Din had been doing since they’d last seen each other. It was about time that Din was the one who took advantage of the mutual _no questions asked_ policy.

“Hey, we’re doing my suicide mission first,” Boba yawned, “get in line. _First,_ Solo feeds us to Terentateks, and if we survive that, we’ll let your guy use us for target practice.”

“He might actually have a job. I promise I’ll be the one to volunteer for diversion duty.”

“It’s okay. I’ll shoot him first.” Boba shifted, elbow sliding until his arm was folded beneath his head. The child snored softly between them. Din thought about leaving, since the child was fully asleep, but couldn’t bring himself to move. Not from here, where it was so quiet and still, he could almost believe nothing was going wrong anywhere in the galaxy, not right now; maybe he felt that way because Boba was making light of his most famous failed encounter, and if he could feel that safe, that removed from the reality of what had happened, they must have found a new galaxy entirely.

“I’ll go,” Boba mumbled into his sleeve, and Din shook his head, even though Boba’s eyes were already closed. Din wanted to reach out, touch him. Sometimes, Boba felt unreal for reasons that had nothing to do with his legendary name, and Din’s heart skipped like he was seeing something impossible.

“Just sleep, _werlaara.”_

When Din slept, he dreamt of his burning village.

His mother was looking at him, but she didn’t hold out her hand to bring him with her and he panicked, wondered if she couldn’t recognize him with his armor, if even she couldn’t see him. He was young, so young, and everything was burning. He's been here before, but this time, she wasn't holding out her hand.

“They’re waiting for you,” she said, but when he looked around, there was no one, nothing. “Not here. Out there,” she still didn’t hold out her hand, but raised it to point towards the sky, alight with flames.

“How do I find them?” he asked, although he didn’t know who he was looking for; maybe he’d recognize them, because they’d fit the empty space in his chest, fit into place.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mother murmured, “not yet. Many things have to go wrong first, and not just for you."

“ _Wrong?”_ he pleaded, but there was blasterfire, smoke, and he knew she was leaving, he was going to lose her again. She wouldn’t hold out her hand to him. Din was missing something, he didn’t know what, _who,_ but there was an ache in his chest that threatened to bring him to his knees. “How am I supposed to make it until then?” He missed a time he hadn’t yet reached so achingly deeply, longed for the relief of having made it there, of the desperate wait being over.

“They’re waiting for you,” his mother said, but he didn’t know if she was reminding him or answering his question. "They need you more than I do." And then she was gone, gone, and the whole world was on fire.

When Din startled awake, he was breathing hard, nearly shaking. He had slumped further down the wall, and the tiny room was still, quiet. The child clutched at his sleeve, snoring. Beside it, Boba lay on his side, one hand extended to rest on Din’s knee.

When Din looked at them, he felt a surge of relief, but couldn’t remember enough of his dream to know why. He'd been young and searching and alone, and when he looked at them, all the panic ebbed away, and he felt like he'd come a great distance to reach this exact moment of calm, sacrificed and fought and traveled a whole galaxy for precisely this.


	12. Chapter 12

Din walked through the space station alone. He hadn’t mentioned his new companions to Ran when they exchanged messages, and didn’t feel the need to show his hand so early. Ran wasn’t paying for Boba Fett, not by a long shot, and Din didn’t want him over-relying on a surprise ace. Din had only had Boba back for a day, but being without him already felt like a mistake, like missing a step on the stairs or expecting a handrail when there was none; some part of Din kept reaching out for him and being startled that he wasn’t there.

“Mando! Is that you under that bucket?” Ran looked just as Din had left him, scraggly and grinning and sharp-eyed. Din shook the offered hand.

“Ran.”

“Didn’t really know if I’d ever see you in these parts again, it’s good to see you. To be honest, I was a little surprised when you reached out to me. You know, cos, I hear things.” Ran arched his eyebrows meaningfully. “Like, maybe things between you and the Guild aren’t working out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you know the policy. No questions. And you, you’re welcome back here anytime.” He beckoned for Din to follow him across the busy hangar. After receiving the message from Ran stating that he had a job but offering no details, Din had looked up to see Boba studying him through the hologram, chin propped on his fist, eyes serious.

“Well,” he’d said gravely, “I think it’s clear we should stick to the plan with Solo and the Terentateks.” He’d smiled wolfishly at Din, and when he laughed, the child had giggled along with him, clearly oblivious to the joke but delighted at Boba’s amusement. 

“So what’s the job?” Din asked Ran, before he could get lost in thinking about it.

“One of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught,” Ran explained, “I’m putting together a crew to spring him. It’s a five person job, I got four. All I need is the ride, and you brought it.”

“The ship wasn’t part of the deal.” The ship had been his plan to conceal the child, to keep it safely away from their job. Boba was going to hate the new arrangement.

“Well, the Crest is the only reason I let you back in here,” Ran said, and Din turned to glower at him; not that Ran could see his face, but there was a satisfaction in it.

“What’s the look? Is that gratitude?” Ran laughed. “Uh-huh. I think it is.”

Ran introduced him to Mayfield, his new point man. Mayfield looked Din over once and came away with a suspicious expression that didn’t lift the entire time he stood before Din.

“This is Mando!” Ran told Mayfield; had it always bothered Din, hearing himself introduced without his name? No one knew it, not anymore, but calling him Mando always reminded him that he could be replaced by any Mandalorian, and no one would care. “The guy I was telling you about. We used to do jobs way back when.”

“This is the guy?” Mayfield frowned. Din wasn’t sure what he was seeing that he disagreed with.

“Yeah, we were all young, trying to make a name for ourselves,” Ran said; the irony wasn’t lost on Din, this team that didn’t know his name. “Running with a Mandalorian, that brought us some reputation.”

“Oh yeah? What did he get out of it?”

“I asked him that one time. You remember what you said, Mando?” Ran asked.

Din didn’t, but he remembered wondering why he stayed. Part of him had been drawn to the idea of a team of misfits, because there was a moment years ago where he craved belonging. He was a Mandalorian, but it sometimes felt like none of them knew him, that they were constructed not to, because no one knew his name or his face and he faltered, feeling replaceable. Ran’s team hadn’t helped that, and not long after, Din had left to work on his own. Solitude didn’t remind him of his otherness the way a team did, and after a few years, he’d begun to find himself within it. But when he was younger, he’d wanted to fashion a family out of a group of strangers, and this hadn’t been the answer.

“Target practice. Man, we did some crazy stuff, didn’t we?”

“That was a long time ago,” Din said flatly.

“Well, I don’t go out anymore. You understand. So Mayfield, he’s gonne run point on this job. If he says it, it’s like it’s coming from me. You good with that?”

“You tell me,” Din said, mostly to Mayfield, who just looked at him.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Ran laughed. He’d never learned to interpret anything Din said.

“Yeah, well, things have changed around here,” Mayfield turned away, returning to the crates he’d been moving.

“He’s one of the best trigger men I’ve ever seen,” Ran said, gesturing towards Mayfield as he moved away. “Former Imperial sharpshooter.”

“That’s not saying much,” Din said, and Mayfield glared over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t a Stormtrooper, wiseass.”

“Don’t take long, does it?” Ran laughed, and Din resisted the urge to sigh. He was abruptly glad for the company he’d brought with him; he didn’t relish the return to the dynamic of Ran’s team. Din had been their automatic reputation, a Mandalorian instantly earning them respect from everyone they came across. Din hadn’t been a person to them, except to the extent that somehow, each found something about him to dislike. He’d never had his own teammate within Ran’s team, and now, he would.

“Come on, Mayfield,” Ran called, “we’ll get this show on the road.”

“Let’s see this ship of yours,” Mayfield said, as Ran led them towards the hangar where the Razor Crest waited. “What the _hell,”_ Mayfield blurted, and Din didn’t think there was anything quite that ominous about his ship, but then he saw what Mayfield had seen. The ramp to the Crest was open, and at the top, Boba waited for them, shoulder leaned against the open doorway. To others, he must have been a sight from a nightmare: the instantly recognizable armor, the name, the reputation, the last thing many saw.

“Did you bring _Boba Fett?”_ Ran asked, sounding more surprised than Din had ever heard him. “What the hell is he doing with you?”

“Ran,” Din said coolly, “what happened to no questions?”

“No questions when you bring along that fucker?” Mayfield nearly shouted, pointing towards the ship. “I have some questions!”

“No questions,” Din repeated. A tiny part of him was enjoying their furious confusion. He watched Boba stride towards them, passersby in the space station staring in confusion and fear.

“I’m not paying him,” Ran said.

“You couldn’t afford it,” Boba said, looking Ran up and down, and them Mayfield. “Who are you?”

“I’m in charge, asshole. No one said you’d be joining us on this little excursion,” Mayfield snapped, bristling. Din fought a smile despite himself. Boba stood with his arms crossed, cut an intimidating figure in his battle-battered armor, every famous dent reminding them where he’d been.

“Consider it your lucky day. Where’s the rest of you?”

Din didn’t miss the questioning looks Ran kept shooting him, chose not to answer. Let Ran wonder how he’d come to travel with the galaxy’s best-known nightmare. He’d even get to benefit from it. It brought a ridiculous surge of possessiveness, as Din watched everyone in the hangar that they passed staring at Boba, awed and often terrified. Boba was here with _him,_ and if it all went to hell, he was the one Boba would side with. Whatever reputation they’d garnered from running with Din was nothing compared to this, the legend who had chosen him.

“There they are,” Mayfield said, bringing them to the group moving supplies towards the Crest. “That good looking fella there with the horns, that’s Burg.” A gigantic, red-skinned wall of muscle stared at them, dropped the crate he held. “This may surprise you, but he’s our muscle.”

Burg came to inspect them, and he looked over Boba, but chose to step up to Din, snarling. “So this is a Mandalorian. Thought they’d be bigger.”

“The droid’s name is Zero,” Mayfield continued, as a spindly droid approached them. Din’s lip curled at the sight of it.

“Thought you said you had four,” he said, instead of commenting on the droid.

“He does,” a woman’s voice purred, and of course, because it had to get worse than a droid, Xi’an strolled into view. She turned a knife between her purple fingers, leering at him. “Hello, Mando.”

“Xi’an,” Din grunted.

“Who the hell is this?” Boba muttered under his breath. She gave him an appraising look before her gaze slid back to Din.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?” she said, and Din knew the knife to his throat was coming even before she jumped closer. Xi’an was a barely-contained bundle of movement and aggression, and Din had always found her in turn exhausting and a liability. She’d taken to him immediately – or whatever passed for that, for her – and he’d wondered once, just once, if it was because she’d seen something in him, seen _him._ It hadn’t taken long to dispel the notion.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, unflinching as she smirked across her knife blade at him.

“I missed you,” she lowered the knife, clinked it against his armor. “This is shiny. You wear it well.”

“Sorry to break up the reunion,” Boba said, and there he was stepping up beside Din, all cavalier menace, somehow able to swagger while standing still, propping his elbow on Din’s shoulder. He looked her up and down slowly, deliberate. “Never heard of you,” he sneered. Xi’an’s eyes narrowed for a millisecond, and then she gave a luxurious smile.

“Maybe you aren’t important enough, then,” she retorted; Din felt a miniscule flinch from Boba before Boba stepped away, frantically sought something he could say to protest the insane idea that Xi’an was important to him. Did Boba care about that? Maybe he was disappointed in Din for seemingly falling for this poor choice.

“Xi’an’s been a little heartbroken since Mando left our group,” Ran contributed, and Din wanted to punch him.

“Aw, you gonna be okay, sweetheart?” Mayfield said, and Xi’an’s grin widened as she pointed a knife at Din.

“I’m all business now. Learned from the best.”

“All right, lovebirds,” Ran said, “break it up till you get on the ship. We don’t have much time.” Din watched the others leave, clenched his teeth at the wink Xi’an gave over her shoulder at him. Boba didn’t look back at him, and Din hurried to follow for the debrief.

Mayfield brought up a hologram of a ship, and Din scowled at the sight of it. Had they thought he wouldn’t recognize it immediately? He cut a look at Boba, but Boba stood with his arms crossed, showing nothing.

“Package is being moved on a fortified transport ship,” Mayfield was saying, “We got a limited window to board, find our friend, get him outta there, before they make their jump.”

“That’s a New Republic prison ship,” Din interrupted, “Your man wasn’t taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested.”

“So what?” Mayfield shot back.

“That’s a max security transport. I’m not looking for that kind of heat,” Din said, and Xi’an laughed.

“You’re the one that brought the big guns,” she tittered, pursing her lips towards Boba. “You came more prepared than any of us.”

“I’m not here to protect you,” Boba snarled. “Don’t forget it.”

“The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids,” Xi’an said, turned back to Boba. “He hates the machines,” she told him in a mock whisper. “In case you didn’t know that, either.” Something in Din’s chest writhed with guilt. He hadn’t told Boba he hated droids, but only because it hadn’t come up. _I’d tell you why,_ Din wanted to promise, because he would, had no reservations; Boba had bared the way he’d felt facing a thousand-year death, and Din hadn’t shared anything. He hadn’t known how.

For the first time, he was relieved to hear a droid speak. “Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess,” Zero announced, coming down the ramp towards them. “The power lines are leaking. The navigation is intermittent. The hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?”

“Yeah, like why not use the Slave?” Mayfield asked, then grinned in Boba’s direction, eyes slits. “Oh, right. Probably got repo’d while you wasted away in a pit.”

“You didn’t hire me,” Boba drawled. “Best you don’t forget that.” He didn’t move until Mayfield looked away first. While Xi’an refused to back down, Din noticed Mayfield holding himself back from outright challenging Boba; it confirmed his suspicion that whatever else Mayfield was, he was smart.

“The Razor Crest is off the old Imperial and the New Republic grid,” Ran said, “it’s a ghost.”

“We need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code. So when we drop out of hyperspace here,” Mayfield pointed to a spot on his hologram, “if we immediately bank into this kind of attitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which should give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal.”

“It’s not possible,” Din protested, because it _wasn’t._ He was so tired of jobs like this, the immediately ill-advised ones. “Even for the Crest.”

“That’s why he’s flying,” Ran nodded to Zero, and Mayfield laughed, clearly delighted at Din’s displeasure. “Mando, I know you’re a pretty good pilot, but we need you on the trigger, not on the wheel.”

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian,” Zero chirped, “My response time is quicker than organics, and I’m smarter, too.” It whirred an instrument in Din’s direction, and Din fought hard against the urge to snap it off. This was a terrible idea. Every part of this was a terrible idea.

“Alright, that’s good,” Ran shooed the droid back towards the ship, stepping in between them. “Forgive the programming. He’s a little rough around the edges. But he is the best.”

“How can you trust it?”

“You know me, man. I don’t trust anybody.” Ran grinned. “Just like the good old days, huh, Mando?” Din didn’t remember any days like this happening before, couldn’t say he missed anything that had actually happened.

The rest of the group trooped onto Din’s ship, and he followed, closing the ramp behind them. If he was hoping to find Boba hanging back for him, he was disappointed, because Boba was already stationed in front of the closed bed compartment, shoulder propped into the corner, effectively blocking the door.

Din ignored the group clustered together and continued to the cockpit so he could watch the droid pilot his ship out of the space station. He had no reason to believe it would break anything in the cockpit or botch the takeoff, but it was a way to put off joining the others. If he had to watch Xi’an smirkingly imply that she knew him intimately once more, he’d lose his mind. The idea that she ever had was laughable; no part of Din was ready to be known, back then, no matter how much he’d craved it.

Once they’d made the jump to hyperspace, he couldn’t linger in the cockpit anymore, and forced himself to stand.

“Feel free to join the others,” Zero said, as though Din needed its permission, “I will handle it from here.” From below, Din heard the sound of doors slamming. When he dropped down the ladder, he found Burg scowling at the closed weaponry locker, Boba standing in front of it. Burg’s next move was to reach for the release button to the closed bed compartment, and Din barely registered the movement before he shot a hand out to stop Burg, cutting him off before he could reach it.

“Hey, hey, okay,” Mayfield cut in, “I get it. I’m a little particular about my personal space too. Let’s just do this job. Get in, get out, and you don’t have to see our faces anymore.”

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” Burg grunted.

“Well, apparently they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy,” Mayfield replied, before his gaze slid over to Boba. “Or whatever you can call what they do.”

“Then why are they all dead?” Burg said, and Din clenched his teeth, said nothing.

“We all know what you’ve been up to,” Mayfield said to Boba, “And you flew with Mando, Xi’an,” Mayfield turned to Xi’an, “is he as good as they say?” Xi’an sat on a crate in the corner, paused in playing with her knife.

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III,” she said, and Din rolled his eyes. Things had gone wrong on Alzoc III, it was true, but it was hardly the worst that had ever happened. He’d done much worse, had much more go wrong for him.

“I did what I had to do,” he said, but he was thinking about it, things going wrong; it felt like something someone had said to him, once. Here he was, despite everything that had happened, or maybe because of it. There’d been a moment when he’d questioned leaving Ran’s group, wondered what else could be out there for him, if leaving was the wrong move.

“Oh, but you liked it,” Xi’an was saying, Din’s attention drifting back towards the sound of her voice. “See, I know who you really are.”

“He never takes off the helmet?” Mayfield asked. Xi’an giggled.

“This is the way,” she mimicked.

“How come you get a name and he doesn’t?” Mayfield asked, jerking his chin towards Boba. “They kick you out or something?”

“How else would everyone know who I am?” Boba asked, sounding bored.

“Wonder what you look like under there,” Mayfield turned back to Din, “You ever see his face, Xi’an?”

“A lady never tells,” she purred, and Din bit back a snarl.

“Oh, come on, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here. Gotta show us something, just lift the helmet up. Let’s all see your eyes.” Mayfield nodded to Burg, and then Burg was closing in on Din. Din threw himself into motion, and in moments, had Burg’s arm behind his back, struggling to keep Burg from throwing him off with his considerable weight. In the struggle, Din heard the sound of a door opening, and he whirled immediately.

“What is that?” Mayfield sounded delighted. The responding coo from the compartment made Din’s stomach flip. “You get lonely up here? Is it a pet or something, or did you and Xi’an make this?” he snickered, and Din forced himself to remain still. Across from him, Boba had his fists clenched, looked like he was moments from throwing himself at Mayfield.

“Something like that,” Din forced out.

“Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft,” Xi’an was peering over at the child, trying to look around Mayfield.

“I was never really into pets. Didn’t have the temperament. Or patience. Never worked out, you know? Maybe I’ll try again with this little fella,” Mayfield said, and then he was reaching for the child. Every muscle in Din’s body tensed, but before he could move, Mayfield was on the floor, Boba kneeling over him, arm across his throat.

“How about,” Boba snarled, “you don’t touch shit that isn’t yours.” Mayfield held up his hands in surrender, but he hadn’t stopped smirking.

“Dropping out of hyperspace now.” Zero’s voice floated down from the cockpit, and the ship pitched abruptly. “Commencing final approach now. Cloaking signal now.” Zero continued, and Din dove towards the doorway, managed to grab the child by the back of its clothes as the ship rolled and dropped. Burg nearly knocked him off his feet by falling into him, and Din clutched the child to his chest, scrambling to stay upright. On the floor, Mayfield had slid away from Boba’s grasp and crashed into Xi’an. “Engaging coupling now.”

The ship stopped moving violently as it slid into docking. Din exhaled slowly.

“Coupling confirmed. We are down,” the droid was still talking; the child gazed up at Din placidly, and Din placed it gently back on the bed.

“Useless droid didn’t even give us a proper countdown,” Xi’an was complaining. Din felt a presence at his elbow, Boba leaning in to check on the child before turning back to watch the others. There was something nervous in his movements now, Din was sure of it. He couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, because Boba gave nothing away, but somehow, Din still knew. He closed the door to the bed compartment.

“We got a job to do,” Mayfield’s voice filtered through to Din as if from far away. “Mando, you’re up.”

Din forced himself to turn away from the closed door and opened the floor hatch, knelt down. He set up the hacking mechanism, worked through the controls, and had the door’s seal hissing open moments later. The prison ship’s hatch yawned open beneath them.

“It’s me?” Mayfield asked, and Burg elbowed him.

“Always you.”

Mayfield dropped down first, then Xi’an, and finally Burg. Din looked across the hatch to see Boba watching the closed compartment door the child waited behind.

“He’ll be okay,” Boba said, like he needed convincing. He circled the hatch to stand beside Din, still looking to where the child hid.

“I can handle this, if you want to stay.”

“No,” Boba said, sharp, and ducked his head. “I don’t trust those assholes, you’re not going alone,” he said, and then he’d dropped through the hatch, disappearing onto the prison ship. With a last look towards the closed room, Din followed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic continues to be an incredibly wonderful experience because of all your support and AMAZING comments, thank you so much to everyone!!

The prison ship was a maze of white hallways, lined with cells. Din didn’t let himself look into any of the cells they passed, kept his attention forward. He didn’t trust the others, either, and it was almost too much to watch at once, their surroundings but also his own team.

“I don’t like this,” Din said, watching Burg look into another prison cell. They were too visible, with too many witnesses.

“You always were paranoid,” Xi’an sing-songed. “Did you know that about him?” she trilled to Boba, waggling her fingers in his direction. He gave a sound that resembled a snarl. “Probably paranoid about you, too, I can’t imagine it’s easy to sleep when you’re nearby!” Everything she said made Din recoil, want to reach for Boba; surely Boba wasn’t listening to her, didn’t believe her. He couldn’t have become what he was if things got to him easily. Din was having trouble believing that, though.

“Is that true, Mando? Are you always paranoid?” Mayfield laughed, but then startled when a prisoner slammed against a cell door. Xi’an and Burg laughed.

“Approaching control room,” Zero spoke through their radios, “make a left at the next juncture.”

“Hey!” a voice hissed from one of the cells, a blue, horned face coming into view. “Fett!”

“Of course you’d have buddies here,” Mayfield looked over his shoulder at Boba. “Why don’t you stay and have a nice visit? Maybe a picnic?”

“I see associating with rebels didn’t go well for you,” Boba said to the prisoner, didn’t even break stride as he passed. A MSE-6 repair droid scuttled into view around the corner, and Din watched the others freeze, thoroughly distracted from the prisoner. Burg stepped forward eagerly.

“It’s just a little mousey,” he laughed, his voice a curdled sweetness, drawing his blaster behind his back. Din’s attention was snagged by a brief movement; Boba, taking slow steps backwards until he came level with Din.

“Burg!” Mayfield kept protesting, until Burg ceased to listen and shot the small droid. Security droids interrupted them, rounding the corner and stopping at the sight of their group.

“Intruder alert,” they droned, “open fire.”

“C’mon,” Boba hissed, and Din didn’t pause to think before following, ducking around the last corner and pressing against the wall. A wall of blasterfire exploded out from the security droids.

“Let’s go, Mando! You’re supposed to be some special – I knew it!” Din heard Mayfield shout, doubtlessly discovering their disappearance.

“Amateurs,” Boba was muttering to himself, moving quickly down the corridor and around corners until they came up behind the security droids.

Without speaking, Boba dropped to one knee and brought up his blaster, and Din dove forward. He swept the droids’ legs out from under them with a sliding tackle, and from there, it was a quick series of movements to disarm, unbalance, and rapidly shoot the droids in quick succession. Whenever he turned his back on one, impossibly accurate blasterfire came from down the hallway, and the next time he turned, all four droids lay on the ground around him. Mayfield, Xi’an and Burg watched from down the hallway, motionless until Mayfield strode forward.

“Make sure you clean up your mess,” he said over his shoulder, walking past Din.

“It seems your presence has been detected,” Zero spoke up, “redirecting security alert away from your position.”

“We’ll split up,” Mayfield announced, “Burg, you take Sarlacc Food to guard the cell. We’ll go to the control room.” Din could see Boba about to protest, and shook his head. If they were splitting up the group, he didn’t want either half unwatched. Boba gave a head tilt that transmitted his displeasure, but he started down the corridor anyways, Burg hastening to lumber after him, clearly disgruntled that he was following and not leading.

Din joined Mayfield and Xi’an, and within a few turns, they’d reached the control room’s closed door. “Open it, Zero!” Mayfield demanded.

“I’m detecting an organic signature,” Zero warned, but it proceeded to open the door when Mayfield insisted. True to Zero’s word, a human guard stood shaking within the control room. They hadn’t mentioned any human guards during the debrief.

“Stop, just stop!” the guard warned shakily, “You put the blasters down right now!”

“Nice shoes,” Mayfield laughed.

“Put down your blasters!”

“Matches his belt,” Xi’an giggled.

“There were only supposed to be droids on this ship,” Din growled, and Mayfield rolled his eyes.

“Let’s see here. Cell two-two-one,” he reported into his radio, “Now, for our well-dressed friend.” He turned back to the guard, but recoiled when the guard withdrew a tracking beacon from his pocket, holding it aloft in a trembling hand. “Easy there, put that down. Come on.”

“Easy,” Din coaxed. “Nobody has to get hurt here. Calm down.” The guard was just a kid, fresh-faced and visibly trembling. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not in Din’s version of the job.

“What is that thing?” Mayfield barked.

“Tracking beacon.” Din held a hand towards the guard, trying to calm him.

“He presses that thing and we’re all done. A New Republic attack team will hone in on our signal and blow us all to hell,” Mayfield snapped. “Put it down!”

“Are you serious?” Xi’an kept circling the room, twirling her knife between her fingers.

“Yes, I’m serious!”

“You didn’t think we needed to know that tiny little detail?”

“I didn’t think we’d get to this point!”

“Yet here we are.”

“Are you questioning my managerial style, Xi’an?”

“No, sir.” Xi’an snapped a salute at him, tone mocking.

“Hey, listen to me,” Din spoke to the guard, soft. “Hey, it’s okay.” He holstered his blaster, put up both hands. “Put it down,” he told Mayfield, but he knew already that Mayfield wouldn’t.

“Are you crazy?”

“Put it down. Hey,” Din added to the guard, “what’s your name?”

“Davan,” the guard whispered.

“Davan. We’re not here for you. We’re here for a prisoner. If you let us go about your job, you can walk away with your life.”

“No, he won’t,” Mayfield said, pointing his blaster at the guard again. Din whipped his blaster back out, aimed it at Mayfield, and of course, of course Mayfield pointed a second blaster at him.

“You realize what you’re gonna bring down on us?” Din said, and Mayfield sneered.

“You think I care about that?”

“We’re not killing anybody, you understand?”

“Really? Bet that gun for hire you brought along is killing someone right now. Get that blaster out of my face, Mando.”

“I can’t do that.”

A flash of silver spun through the room. Davan dropped to the floor, and Din whipped towards him. Xi’an strolled over to the guard’s body, plucked her knife from his chest, as cavalier as if she hadn’t just killed an innocent kid who _didn’t have to die_. “Will you both just shut up?”

“Crazy Twi,” Mayfield grumbled, as if it were a mere inconvenience, and not a kid lying on the ground, dead. “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, looked like it.”

The tracking beacon blinked, beeping softly.

“Was that thing blinking before?” Mayfield asked, as they all stared at it. “Was it?”

“Zero to Mayfield,” Zero’s voice interrupted. “I detected a New Republic distress signal homing in on your location. You have approximately twenty-five minutes.”

“We only need five,” Xi’an shrugged. She spun the knife that had killed the guard around her finger.

“Let’s go,” Mayfield barked. “Burg’s at the cell already, holding off any droids.”

They left the kid there, the kid who didn’t have to die. Din tried not to look back, failed more than once.

When they arrived at the cell, though, no one waited for them in the corridor. “I swear, if he got lost,” Mayfield grumbled, plugging a device into the door. “Zee, open it up!”

The door slid open, and the familiar Twi’lek that strolled out didn’t make Din feel any better about the situation. “Qin,” he grunted, and Qin grinned.

“Funny. The man who left me behind is now my savior.” Qin strolled past him, arms spread. Din had hardly regretted leaving him behind, hadn’t considered him a teammate in the slightest, hadn’t been about to risk his own life for any of them – before Din could react, a sharp pain radiated through his side, and before he could recover from what felt like the jab of a knife, he’d been shoved into the cell, the door slamming shut as he stumbled and hit the ground.

“Attack’s on the way,” Mayfield said from the hallway, as though he hadn’t just thrown Din into a cell, “let’s go. He’s already dead meat.”

“Come on, it’s better this way,” Qin said.

“You deserve this!” Xi’an called, already far down the hallway. Mayfield’s face appeared at the window of the cell.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll take great care of your little green pet, all the way to Nevarro.” Din’s blood went cold, and he must have visibly flinched, because Mayfield laughed. “Yeah, this isn’t just because I can’t stand you, although to be clear, it doesn’t hurt my feelings at all to see you or your has-been professional traitor in a jail cell.” He disappeared from sight, footsteps echoing until they faded into silence. Din dropped his head back against the wall, breathing heavily.

He should have known. Mayfield was sharp, and if Ran had heard about Din’s falling out with the Guild, it made sense that Mayfield would have sought out the reason why. Ran might not have thought to investigate further, but Mayfield was too smart not to question why a Guild hunter suddenly and violently turned on the Guild.

Twenty-five minutes had been, what – five minutes ago, maybe. He had twenty minutes. Twenty. He could get out in twenty minutes, and then he’d find Boba, and they’d get the hell off the ship and kill Mayfield before he got close to the child. What if Burg had done something similar to Boba? Where was he? Din would get out of the cell, get to the control room and check the security feed. Din would find him, he had to. They’d get back to the kid, both of them.

Getting out wasn’t difficult. Din shot a wire at a security droid and dragged it closer, ripped its arm off and used its included mechanism to unlock the door. The hallway was deserted, and Din bolted for the control room.

The guard’s body still lay in the middle of the room. Din grabbed the beacon from the ground and started searching the monitors as they rotated through images. He saw Xi’an, Qin and Mayfield, but not Boba or Burg. When Mayfield and Qin went through a door first, Din slammed the button to close it, cutting Xi’an off from them, and then he shut off the lights. Red emergency lighting flooded the hallways, and an alarm began blaring. He shut several doors, effectively cutting them off from a straight shot to the ship, leaving only a convoluted path he could follow once they were dealt with.

Din still didn’t see Boba.

All he could do was start searching. Din skirted the hallway with the crumpled droids he’d left, looked frantically for his next move. He skipped a hallway with a troop of droids going in the opposite direction, the red lights continuing to flash on and off. He’d search every cell if he had to, they were running out of time and there had to be a better way to find him –

“ _Din?!_ Din! _”_ he heard, faintly, and he would have almost forgotten to respond to his name at all, if it hadn’t been Boba’s voice.

It was followed by a commotion a few hallways over, and when Din reached the source of the noise, he came upon Burg, nearly disappearing amongst the red lighting, three security droids, and Boba, ducking Burg’s swinging fist and rolling onto his back, kicking upward just as he pulled the trigger of his blaster rapidly. Boba yanked a droid’s leg out from under it and shot through two at once, leapt to his feet and slammed the third into the wall before shooting it. It was fluid, fast, and Din hardly knew what had happened before Burg and the three droids were on the floor.

“Hey!” Din called, and Boba ran towards the sound of his voice, but barely stopped when he reached Din at the corner, grabbed Din by the shoulders, clutching him tight.

“I thought,” Boba said, breathing harshly, “I couldn’t find you, I thought, I thought – Din, fuck, _Din_ –” He’d never said Din’s name before and now kept repeating it, frantic. Din tilted his head forward to touch his helmet to Boba’s. “Din.” His name was a plea, desperate, like Din wasn’t already here and safe and ready to fight every last thing in this ship until they reached the child.

“I’m fine, _werlaara,_ ” he said, the word slipping out unintentionally, but Boba's fury at everything around them almost felt more like panic, and Din needed to just – reach for him, somehow. Boba nodded, releasing him.

“Okay. Okay. Shit. Let’s get those assholes, they’re not getting off this ship if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fine by me.”

“I saw him throw you in,” Boba said, abrupt. “From down the hallway, I saw it, and he attacked me so I couldn’t go to you and then you were gone–” He grabbed for Din again, one hand on Din’s shoulder, the other at his elbow. “You’re fine. Din. You’re fine,” he said, and all Din could do was nod.

“Mayfield figured out the kid has a bounty.” At least he couldn’t see Boba’s face, although the strangled sound he made more than clued Din in to his expression. “I cut him off from leaving and split up him and Xi’an, but they’re both still out there.”

Boba started down the hallway again at a run, but after their first turn, he stopped at the sound of his name being called.

“Come on, Fett!” It was the prisoner from before, trying to beckon Boba over. “Fett! Turn me in to the Xan sisters. They’re offering a bounty.”

“Dead or alive?” Boba wasn’t looking at him, busy scanning the rest of the corridor for Xi’an or Mayfield between the flashes of red light.

“Wouldn’t you rather collect my bounty than let me die in a New Republic prison?”

“How much.”

“Fifty thousand credits,” the prisoner said, which was far, far more than what Ran was paying them for his prisoner. Boba sighed, tilted his head to look over his shoulder at Din. Surprised to be consulted, Din just gave a nod, and Boba turned back to the prisoner.

“Makes no difference to me where you’re dealt with,” Boba said, but approached the door anyways. He’d apparently ripped the door-opening mechanism off of a droid and kept it; maybe he’d thought he might find Din in another cell, trapped. He borrowed Din’s handcuffs and shepherded the prisoner into the corridor. “Zingo Gabnit. Bounty hunter,” he told Din; the name meant nothing to Din, but he nodded anyways.

Din followed Boba down the corridor, their new charge accompanying them; from there, Xi’an wasn’t hard to track. Her voice drifted from around the corner as she shouted into her comm, trying fruitlessly to reach Zero. She heard them approaching, flung a knife before she’d even fully turned. Din brought up his arms to deflect her knives, one after the other, and Boba darted past him, ducking a knife and diving for Xi’an. He had her in an instant, and Din opened a cell door while Boba dragged her over.

“Oh really?” she laughed loudly, “So jealous that you have to put your competition in jail? He’s not worth having, I’d know it. There’s nothing under all that armor.”

“Shows what you know,” Boba spat, as she kicked and struggled. She grabbed onto his shoulder, pulled herself up to speak to him.

“What makes you think he’d want something like you?” she hissed, and he heaved her into the cell, slammed the door. Boba continued on before Din could say anything, didn’t look at him. The flashing lights and alarms and the urgency kept Din from dwelling on it, but – but. 

It was easy to intercept Mayfield, the sound of nearby droids catching his attention before they could.

“Can I kill him?” Boba asked, voice low, as they watched Mayfield jerk towards the sound of the droids, several hallways over.

“If he’s in a cell, he’ll never get to the kid,” Din said, because he couldn’t stop seeing the body of the kid guard on the floor, because Boba was the kind of furious he could get swept away in. “He doesn’t have to die.”

He watched Boba disappear around the corner so he could come up on Mayfield from behind, wondered if he’d listen. Din stepped out into the corridor in front of Mayfield, and Mayfield cocked his head, blaster raised.

“Oh, look who escaped,” Mayfield taunted, but Din could see him twitch, compelled to look over his shoulder.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” Din said, and from behind Mayfield, Boba leapt forward, slamming Mayfield to the ground and catching his arms behind his back. Mayfield struggled but couldn’t shake Boba’s knee from his back. Din had been expecting Boba’s usual long-range tactics, surprised to see him choose something so close range.

“From the second I saw you,” Mayfield spluttered angrily, as Boba jerked him to his feet and led him towards the nearest empty cell, “I knew you were a traitor. You’re only loyal to whoever is currently paying you. I knew we shouldn’t trust you.”

“You threw him in a cell and now you think you’re taking that kid?” Boba snarled, as Din opened the cell door, “You’re lucky this is all I’m doing to you.” He threw Mayfield forward, slammed the door closed, and Din wished there was enough to time to ask – there wasn’t, so he just led the way to the exit, where they found Qin making a break for the ladder.

“Qin!” Din barked, and Qin froze, turned.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a step backwards at the sight of Boba. “What the hell is this?!”

“I’m not here for you,” Boba said, raising his blaster.

“Where are all the others? You killed them, didn’t you?”

“They got what they deserved,” Din replied.

“You kill me, you don’t get your money. Whatever Ran promised, I’ll make sure you get it, and more,” Qin said, “come on, Mando. Be reasonable.” He threw his blaster to the ground. “You were hired to do a job, right? So do it. Isn’t that your code? Aren’t you a man of honor?” He kept looking back at Boba nervously. “You’re the one that killed them, aren’t you?”

“Not all of us are men of honor,” Boba kept his blaster raised. “Get on the ship.” He gestured upwards with his blaster, kept it trained on Qin until he’d ascended the ladder. Boba unlocked Gabnit’s handcuffs so he could climb the ladder, and when both had vacated the corridor, Boba looked over at Din. “I knew I couldn’t trust them with you,” he said, so quietly Din almost couldn’t hear him. “You’re okay, right? Din? You’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Din promised, but his heart raced at the sound of his name in Boba’s voice.

Din boarded the ship first, and the first thing he saw – the droid, standing in front of the bed, slowly raising its gun, and the child – the _child –_ Din shot Zero immediately, and the droid crashed to the floor in a metallic heap.

“That how you greet your friends?” Gabnit called over, as Boba re-cuffed him. Din cupped the child’s cheek briefly, then closed the door to keep it hidden in the compartment, and rushed to the cockpit so they could take off in time.

Once they’d taken off and were on their way back to the space station, Din heard footsteps, and then Boba was leaning against his chair.

“Baby’s okay?” Boba asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re – you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Din repeated. He tilted his head back, looked up at Boba. _It was better with you there,_ he couldn’t quite say, couldn’t express that he’d known, even in the midst of an enemy-filled prison ship, there was someone who had his back, who would be looking for him. Instead, Din reached over, caught Boba’s hand in his own, and squeezed gently for just a moment before letting go.

“I’ll kill anyone who goes after you, they’re lucky a jail cell was all they got,” Boba said, voice hoarse, and then he abruptly left the cockpit. Din looked back, a warmth radiating from his chest as he watched Boba leave, a glow with the enormity of the black-hole-shaped void that had opened up when he’d lost them, swallowing up everything in its path.

Din returned Qin to Ran on the space station, watched as Ran hugged Qin and greeted him enthusiastically. He didn’t doubt that Ran needed Qin for something, and that was why Qin had been rescued.

“Where are the others?” Ran asked, looking around Din towards the ship.

“No questions asked. That’s the policy, right?”

“Yeah,” Ran said slowly, “that is the policy. Guess I can’t ask why you’re running with the big bad bounty hunter either.”

“No,” Din said. “I did the job.”

“Yeah, you did.” Ran tossed a coin purse to him; there was a reluctance in his eyes Din had expected. He’d always suspected that Ran had never liked him much. He was going to like Din even less when they discovered the tracker Din had slipped into Qin’s pocket. Din had never trusted Ran, and he wasn’t about to take chances, not when he had to turn his back to Ran to leave, not when he wasn’t traveling alone.

“Just like the good old days,” Din said. There never had been any, and this was just like them: no trust, no loyalty except to self-interest.

“Yeah, just like the good old days.”

It was a relief to return to the Crest, and even more so to see the X-wings racing in the opposite direction, zeroing in on the space station where Din knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ran was preparing to shoot him down.

The child toddled around the cockpit as Din programmed in their new course to Bracca. Boba had snuck the child into the cockpit since it resisted waiting in the closed compartment, and neither wanted their new bounty to see the child, not after the encounter with Ran’s team. Din unscrewed the silver ball from the console, held it out and dropped it into tiny waiting hands.

“Like I said,” he sighed, “that was a bad idea. I know it was my idea, but I told you it was a bad one.” The child chirped in agreement. “Are you telling me it’s okay, and that everyone makes mistakes?” Din looked over the armrest, couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the child staring up at him, clutching the silver ball possessively. “Well, you’re right. Everyone does. That’s very wise of you to point out, little one.” The child chirped in delighted agreement, then made the sounds Din had begun to associate with it asking to be picked up. He complied, settled the child on his lap; it seemed to like staring at the streaking stars of hyperspace, mesmerized.

There was a small, clattering commotion from below decks, and Din looked over his shoulder, the child following suit. “How about,” he heard Boba’s voice, “you just don’t touch anything.”

“I was just looking!” Gabnit protested. “Kind of a downgrade, isn’t this ship? Last I saw you, you had quite a few more bells and whistles.”

“Forgot where I parked it.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re on Guild business anymore, either, unless they now condone breaking bounties out of New Republic prisons. What’s the matter, fall out with them?”

Gabnit had been a Guild bounty from the brief time that Boba attempted to go through the Guild, Boba had told Din as they’d flown back to the space station. Gabnit had brought in a bounty dead but the client had insisted they’d specified alive only, and the Guild had promised to take it to an appeal but failed, leaving him without credits to pay his debts; Gabnit had run afoul of the Guild ever since.

“Couldn’t associate with a Guild that would hire you,” Boba said, sounding entirely bored.

“Didn’t I warn you they’d fuck you like they did me?” Gabnit’s voice rose, “the Guild sided with the client, like they always do!”

The child made unhappy sounds, recoiling from the noise. Din wrapped an arm around it, tucked it closer against him.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, “Boba’s down there with him. He’ll look out for us.”

The child relaxed immediately, returned to its happy cooing and fiddling with its new toy. Din listened, but the voices below deck had faded away, Boba apparently done entertaining conversation.

Din watched the racing stars of hyperspace, listening to the child’s fascinated murmurs as they sped towards a planet he’d never visited. There were still things he wanted to understand, mysteries he had no words for but that lived in the panicked way Boba said his name, in between his boundless anger and the way he unquestioningly did what Din asked, lurking within Xi’an’s _something like you_ and the way Boba wouldn’t look at Din after she said it. Din wanted to know, _needed_ to know, but now, on the cusp of delving back into one of the many stories that made up a legend, stepping into a day when Boba had been something feared and something dangerous, wasn’t the time to ask.


	14. Chapter 14

“It can’t come.” Boba stood with his arms crossed in the cockpit entrance, looking down at the child in its cradle. The child whined in protest.

“It came on Sorgan, so it thinks it can. What if it tries to follow us out?” Din stood beside Boba, watching the child pout up at them; he didn’t think it should accompany them either, but it felt equally impossible to leave it behind, alone. Boba shook his head firmly.

“This place is different. These people know me, and they have Empire connections,” Boba said, voice sharp. “They cannot know about it.”

He turned abruptly and dropped down the ladder; the child whined and looked up at Din expectantly, although Din wasn’t sure if it was protesting Boba’s decision or just his abrasive mood. Din didn’t know if it was the aftermath of the prison ship or the prelude to Bracca, but it made him want to reach out with a soft voice, though the exact words he’d use eluded him.

“I’m not giving in, either,” Din said. “He said no.” The child whimpered, and then it threw the silver ball onto the floor. “Oh, don’t do that.” Din knelt, picked the ball back up. “Stay here. Do not touch anything you shouldn’t. I _know_ you know what you shouldn’t touch.” He remained on one knee, at eye level with the child. “You need to stay here and be good. We’ll be back very soon.”

The child threw itself down face-first into its blankets, but after a moment, a small hand popped up, palm held up expectantly. Din placed the silver ball into its hand.

“We’ll be back,” he promised.

Bracca was a vast, rocky junkyard. A misting rain permeated the spaceport, making everything a dark, obscured blue. Din followed Boba and their handcuffed bounty down the metal pier, into the spaceport. He had the distinct impression that people were catching sight of them and disappearing into the background when they saw Boba, the spaceport somehow busy around every corner but deserted everywhere they passed through.

Boba seemed to know where to go. He led them to a windowless high-speed train carrying mostly supplies that shot them from the spaceport past several scrapyards, and when they finally stepped off the train, Din had his first look at one of the scrapyards.

The metal structure was dwarfed by the starships that flanked it. Badly damaged ships underwent repairs or deconstructions, cranes lifting entire wings to be welded into place by repair droids. The air filled with metallic clangs, the sparking burn of welding torches and whirring of drills, rain pelting against every metal surface. In the distance, other scrapyards and decommissioned ships loomed out of the fog, like the entire planet was comprised of hulking, silent giants against its stormy horizon.

“Here we are,” Gabnit said, as he followed Boba into the heart of the scrapyard. Inside the building, the scrappers cleared a path for them as soon as they saw Boba, melting into the background. Din wanted to ask why Boba had been here before, told himself he was refraining only because of Gabnit’s presence. Not because seeing Boba here, in the setting of a previous time, made Boba feel suddenly like a stranger.

_He’s mine now,_ Din wanted to tell this place that had once held Boba, had once seen him as what he’d been before, _you can’t have him back._ Boba had reached out to him at the moment where he could have turned back, and Din wouldn’t let him go. He wanted neither of them to belong here, for Boba to be as out-of-place as Din was, though this was one of Boba’s many pieces.

After passing several noisy bays filled with moving parts and repair droids and scrappers, they took a sharp turn down steep metal stairs. Their path took them across two floors of storage and ship parts and machinery, and then down a narrow staircase, past a guard who took a step back at the sight of Boba. Din was used to commanding a respect as a lone Mandalorian, but this was different; Din represented a collection of people the galaxy rarely saw, and Boba was singularly himself, demanding fear. He wasn’t the mystery Din represented, but a known omen, and no one had to wonder what he could bring about.

In a back room dominated by a holotable, they found the Xan sisters. The image of a ship floated in the blue lights of the table, and all Din noticed was its massive size before the image flickered out of existence. The sisters were Mirialans, both with pale green skin; one had the traditional facial tattoos, and the other did not.

“Look who it is,” the tattooed one kept her elbows on the edge of the table, watching them enter without moving a muscle. “Come all the way back from the dead just for our bounty?”

“Seems oddly high for him,” Boba said, as the other sister circled the table to peer at Boba, and then Din.

“Who might you be?” she asked Din, and though she now stood still, it felt as though she was circling him. “Another of the Empire’s favorites?”

“Kartessa,” Gabnit said, nodding to the nearer sister, and then to the tattooed one, “Acina. I appreciate you paying to have me freed from the New Republic.”

“You’ll be paying us back,” Acina replied, and Kartessa smiled in agreement, humorless.

“We didn’t think you’d stand up to their questioning.” She waved a hand towards the door. “You can go. Wel has a job for you. Bay eight.” Din stepped forward to unhandcuff Gabnit, and Gabnit left the room; the sisters waited until his footsteps had fully faded to speak again.

“I didn’t think anyone would pick up his bounty,” Acina leaned her hip against the table, still making no move to approach them. “I thought we’d have to have him killed in custody. What an odd coincidence that you came across him.”

“Maybe I should charge a convenience fee.” Boba crossed his arms, somehow managed to look even broader. “We all know he’s useless. How is he possibly worth fifty thousand credits?”

“I’d have paid a hundred,” Acina shrugged, “he’s the one who’ll be paying it off. Easier to have him returned alive than pay to have him killed.” She still hadn’t answered why he was important to them, and Din didn’t expect her to. His best guess was that it was information Gabnit had that was truly of value to them, and they’d care more about its discovery than his capture.

“Pretty low bounty for you to pick up,” Kartessa added. “Still have your in with the Empire?” Kartessa sounded like she was circling again, a predator closing in. “You’d have been quite useful, back in your heyday. Returned to your former glory yet?”

“Depends if they can still pay,” Boba said, “I could always go back, if the price is right. ” He said it so casually, Din would have believed it if he didn’t already know otherwise; Boba was all-but exiled after his catastrophic failure, but he lied well, at least to people who didn’t know that he tended towards the cavalier when he wanted to emphasize his reputation to scare them.

“How lucky for us, that we caught you in between jobs,” Kartessa said, voice cool, but her face had betrayed a flash of interest before she managed to conceal it. Her sister looked entirely unimpressed.

“I may have another item of interest to you,” Acina said, “a ship.”

“Don’t need one.” None of them seemed to remember Din was still in the room; it felt almost like watching a day that had already played out, revisiting a memory to see why Boba had become what he was, or to warn him of something. It was different than watching Boba in action; Din could fit in there, could contribute something if they were fighting. This, the beginning and end of each bounty, the negotiations where everyone treated Boba like a formidable threat, where everyone looking at him saw everything he’d done, Din had no place here.

“Be that as it may,” Acina said; she possessed a stillness her sister did not convey, an entirely different kind of predator, more reptilian than feline. “I have the Slave IV.” Din looked, but Boba didn’t move, gave no indication to what he was feeling, hearing this. “Perhaps you’d like to trade the bounty for it? We’ve nearly finished its repairs.”

“Fully restored,” Kartessa added, “exactly as she was the day you lost her.”

Was that something Boba would want? Din didn’t feel much of an emotional connection to the Razor Crest beyond appreciating it as a tool, but the Slave was as widely recognized as Boba himself, the only companion he’d ever had. Though he’d gone through several different iterations throughout the years and the battles, the ship still bore the same name as the first, always a model that harkened back to the original. It was still the Slave, just like it had been when it was his father’s. Boba wasn’t just a legend, after all; he was part of a legacy.

“No. I don’t need a ship.”

“Not even this ship?” Kartessa asked, “ _Your_ ship?”

Boba shook his head, and Din exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Acina retrieved a coin purse from a drawer in the table, tossed it across the room to Boba as though it were much lighter than it sounded.

“We have matters to attend to.”

“Pleasure doing business,” Boba said, and he tilted his head to Din to beckon him to follow. Din almost missed it, almost didn’t recognize it as familiar amidst the mannerisms from before.

Neither spoke until they’d gone up three flights of stairs; the silence between them felt deafening to Din, even among the noise of the scrapyard.

“You didn’t want your ship back,” Din finally said, and Boba shook his head.

“Doesn’t feel like mine anymore.” He’d begun scanning the bays they passed, though, his pace slowing. There were no familiar ships, just a few small crafts, several light freighters, and a massive transport-class ship that overtook nearly an entire side of the scrapyard. Din waited, but Boba never made a move to double back or look further into the scrapyard, though he looked into every bay they passed.

Din was the one who saw it first. Even through the rain falling in sheets, it loomed like an omen. Beside him, Boba stopped, was silent for a long moment.

“There it is.” His voice was far away, as though he had to travel years out of his memory to return to Din. “Slave IV. Same class as Jaster’s Legacy. My father’s ship,” he said, and the words faded away as though he was returning to wherever he’d just been. In his lostness, he sounded familiar again to Din, and among this setting where he’d once been something else entirely, it felt like a fall, a loss. What could affect him so greatly that he’d ever prefer this to his sure-footed past, how could he keep choosing this departure from his own way?

“Jaster’s Legacy?” Din asked, but Boba didn’t seem to hear him. Din didn’t know much about Boba’s father, knew what the rest of the galaxy knew, but this – this was part of Din’s own history. Jaster Mereel had been the leader of the True Mandalorians, the less violent of the two factions the Mandalorians had split into. The Death Watch had killed Jaster Mereel; later, they had come to save Din’s life.

“I thought it might feel like home,” Boba said, so quietly Din had to lean closer to hear him. “I thought I’d be relieved if it didn’t.”

How could Din tell him, how could he ever articulate something so complex? He wanted Boba to know that it was okay to crave a home, even if it would remain one he’d left behind, to know that what he’d come from had made him, though not inescapably. He could be homesick for a time filled with violence and ruthlessness, because at the beginning of it, he’d been the closest he would ever be to the peace he was leaving behind. He could be on a better path at forty but still miss being sixteen, only because back then, his last memories of his father had been just a few years old and not decades, crisp and recent and so clear he could almost step back into them. He could be homesick for the person he’d been decades ago, the same way Din could miss the person he’d never had the chance to become.

Din wanted to touch him, but he felt too far away. “ _Werlaara,”_ he murmured instead. _“Gar nu shuk solus.”_ This was all he wanted Boba to know: _you are not alone,_ in the best way he could say it.

Boba kept looking at the ship for a few long moments. “Let’s get back to the kid,” he said eventually, and it felt like he understood everything Din needed to tell him.

As they neared the hangar where they’d left the Crest, Din began to feel like he’d missed something. One of the sisters had said something slightly off, he was increasingly sure of it. Something about Boba considering returning to the Empire, but saying that they’d caught him in between jobs, like she already knew he’d gone back. They’d said he’d come back from the dead, but hadn’t looked surprise to see him walk in the door, and assuming he was in-between jobs despite having supposedly just returned. It could have been just a throwaway phrase, but coupled with her fascination with his Empire connections –

“She knows,” Din blurted out, grabbed Boba by the elbow as Boba led them from the high-speed train, towards the hangar. “She knows about the kid.”

“What? How could she?” Boba asked, but Din felt him go tense. “Din,” Boba said, voice strained, and then he spun and took off at a run towards the Crest, Din following.

Nothing was wrong from the outside. The ship appeared untouched, and as they sprinted for the ramp that lowered too-slowly at Din’s instruction, Din was sure they were too late. They’d taken too long to get back, she’d arrived before them, she’d known about the kid –

Kartessa was there, but the scene before him refused to make sense to Din. She knelt on the ground, hands grasping at something unseen around her neck. The child – it was all alone in the middle of the floor, eyes shut, small hands outstretched like it reached desperately for something.

“Let her go,” Boba instructed, already holding his hand out for Din’s handcuffs as Din unhooked them and handed them over. Kartessa gasped for breath as Boba yanked her hands behind her back, cuffed her. The child relented, dropping its hand. Din stepped around Kartessa to scoop it into his arms, heart slamming against his ribcage even as he saw for himself that the child was fine, uncaptured, fine.

“You knew he’d already gone back to the Empire,” Din said, looking down at Kartessa. Boba stood over her, blaster drawn and pointed at her head. “Didn’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes, staring at him, unflinching. It wasn’t until her gaze shifted to Boba that she showed anything resembling fear.

“Tell me,” Boba snarled. “What do you want with it?”

“The same thing as you,” she said, “you think I want to be stuck on this junk planet for the rest of my life? I’ll pay double its bounty if you give it to me.”

“The Empire is dying. There’re no boots left to lick there,” Boba spat, and to Din’s surprise, Kartessa laughed, a sharp, smug sound.

“Wonder how they’ll stock the troop transport ships I keep selling them,” she said, and Din found himself suddenly at a loss. He’d thought the same thing Boba did – that the Empire was dying out, that the few survivors were being taken down through infighting, that the end was more likely than a resurgence. “I’ll pay triple,” she told Boba, “just let me turn it in.”

She was looking at the child again, and Din could see it, plain on her face: a hunger to belong, to climb, to _become,_ and the child was the only way she had to place her into the Empire’s inner circle.

Din shot her. It was reflexive, almost quicker than he could fully process, but suddenly, his blaster was unholstered and he’d shot her. Boba looked from Kartessa’s fallen body to Din, and for a moment, Din felt like – like him.

“She wasn’t ever going to stop,” Din said, heard his own desperation, “she was going to keep coming after it. There’s something – something bigger than this going on.” The enormity was suddenly staggering, and Din could barely breathe. The Empire wasn’t just the small pockets he’d encountered, but suddenly rising up beyond the horizon, pieces appearing from everywhere he looked. This wasn’t Din’s world, this wasn’t the way his jobs worked, he took bounties and never heard about them again, he moved on and only looked forward and nothing came reaching out of the past for him.

This was Boba’s galaxy, this was what he’d been entrenched in, and for all Din had heard the stories, he’d never _felt_ them before, but here it was: the Empire looming in the distance, enemies everywhere, intertwined and unextractable, and there was always something coming for him. His legend was a vast, interconnected string of bounties and kills and targets, and he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Din heard, looked up to see Boba approaching him like he was an easily-spooked animal. Din could hear his own shallow breathing. “Din,” Boba breathed, and he tilted his helmet to Din’s, stood close for a long moment. A distant part of Din’s mind remembered what this meant, but – but how could he ever have something so small and safe, when there was so much going on around them? Din had never felt so seen, so singled out in the galaxy.

“How can you take this?” Din asked, and the child whimpered in his arms, could tell that something was wrong, everything. How could Din keep it safe, if everyone knew where they were, where they’d been, what they’d done? How could Din ever protect it? “Everyone knows what you’ve done. Everyone is coming after you.”

“That’s the way it’s always been,” Boba said, and he sounded so tired but so solid, like there was a familiar storm coming for him and he’d withstood it before, no matter how terrible it was on each return. “When the whole galaxy knows your name, there’s nowhere to hide.”

Din was no legend; he was a secret, an undetected, small part of a culture that cloaked him, absorbed him into their shared identity so he had no name of his own, safe beneath their shared name. For all he knew about Boba Fett, he’d never known that this was how it felt, to be a legend: to be known by the whole galaxy, known and watched and never, never safe.


	15. Chapter 15

Sleeping felt impossible. Boba had insisted Din have the bed, but despite having the dark, quiet room to himself, Din couldn’t sleep. When he managed to get close to drifting off, he’d jerk awake again, suddenly sure he’d heard something, a footstep out of place or an unexpected breath. Several hours passed in a tense, anxious haze, and finally, Din let himself be drawn up to the cockpit. He almost forgot to snag his helmet on the way back up, had to double back.

The child was sound asleep in its cradle; it was snoring surprisingly loudly, a telltale sign that it was finally past the point where the slightest noise make it wake up, at which point it would be filled with energy for at least another hour. In the captain’s chair, Boba slept on his back, looking like he might slide to the ground at any moment. Din wasn’t going to wake him up, not when he was finally getting some sleep.

“Hey,” Din said, very softly. “Are you awake?” No response. The cockpit lights were dimmed until they were nearly off, and stars filled the viewscreen as they slowly drifted in orbit around Bracca, on the other side of the planet from where they’d originally landed. Din hadn’t been able to think of a destination. He sank into the other chair; watching the child sleep was making his heart rate slow back to normal, but he still couldn’t chase away the sense of a panicked drifting.

Boba shifted in his sleep, slid further sideways in the chair. Din found himself forgetting he’d ever been afraid Boba would choose to leave them; the fear of losing him was higher than ever, with seemingly every criminal in the galaxy at their heels, but at some point, Din had stopped being afraid Boba would take himself away. It almost seemed like he was equally afraid to lose Din. It was a foreign feeling, to be irreplaceable, but Din kept catching flashes of it – the way Boba said his name, grabbed for him, desperate and panicked and _scared._

Becoming attached to the child felt natural; it gazed at Din with a wholly trusting sureness, and Din would kill for it, die for it. That part was easy, and while Din was terrified to lose the child, it wasn’t a feeling that scared him. The part he couldn’t handle was Boba – this galaxy-wide legend who said Din’s name like it was his only lifeline, who reached for him, just him, who became undone only when he thought he’d never find Din again. Din didn’t know what to _do_ with any of it; it was a feeling that scared him, because he’d always known what he was, and now he’d become something _to_ someone.

Din startled at the sound of movement, but it was just Boba, sitting up in the chair and yawning. He didn’t seem surprised to find Din in the cockpit, just stretched back out on the chair.

“Too lonely down there?” he asked, like he’d intended to make a joke of it, but it came out too soft. Din shrugged, although Boba wasn’t looking back at him. “It got to the point where I could only sleep in hyperspace,” Boba said, “otherwise, I’d keep waking up, positive someone was about to catch up to me. I know I brought it on myself, although when I was younger, I felt so justified.” He sighed, tilted his head back slightly to look at Din. “This feels different, you know. We’re doing the right thing.”

“I don’t really know _how_ to do it,” Din said, quiet. “At least this time it’s obvious it’s the right thing. There were other times I thought I was doing the right thing for myself, and it really wasn’t.”

“Was –” Boba started, and he trailed off for a long moment before starting again, “was that why you stayed with Ran’s crew?”

“Yeah. I wanted to feel part of something where people really knew me.”

“Did she?”

“I wasn’t ready for it, so she knew what I was able to share. It wasn’t much.”

“Din,” Boba said, very soft, and nothing else, although just the single word was so much more than anyone else could produce.

“She didn’t know my name,” Din said, as close as he could get to admitting that it felt monumental that Boba knew it, that no one but him had said it in decades. Din only knew how it sounded in a few voices, and suddenly, after years of silence, he knew it in one more. “She knew I wanted to feel like a Mandalorian, because that was the only thing I wanted, back then. It probably seemed like a hollow thing to want.”

“It’s not,” Boba said, the words weighed down with an understanding Din didn’t even have the words for.

“I wasn’t born a Mandalorian. Maybe if I was, I’d have an easier time understanding what it means, how to be an individual when I don’t have a name or a face or a past, not to them. It’s freeing, but it’s also taking those things away, and it’s hard to – to feel important. To know who I am, without it.”

“You are,” Boba said. He didn’t turn back around, and Din could just see around the chair enough to watch Boba’s fingers fiddle with the edge of his sleeve. “You’re important to the kid, you changed the course its life was going to take. And – I’d recognize you,” Boba said, getting progressively quieter, “I’d know you without any of those things, just by how it feels to be around you. And the kid would for sure,” he added, quick, while Din was still processing what Boba had just said, that Boba would know him, no matter what. “You could let him go in the covert, and he’d come right to you.”

“How are we supposed to keep it safe?” Din looked back down into the cradle, trying to picture a time when the child might come running to him, when it would ever be safe enough for it to walk around alone. “I almost left it on Sorgan,” he added, “to be raised there. I just – I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let someone that wasn’t _us_ take care of it. We were the ones who came for it, and – the people who come for you, they always feel the safest. I didn’t want it to lose that.” The child moved in its sleep, but not like it was having nightmares; it nuzzled into its blankets, tiny snores muffled. Din reached in to tuck the blankets away from its face. “Like when the Mandalorian from Death Watch saved me. Of all the ones who were there, he always felt the safest to me.”

“Death Watch, huh,” Boba repeated. He pushed himself up, sat sideways in the chair so he could look back at Din fully; his hair was tousled from sleep. “They killed my father’s family, and Jaster,” he said, and though Din tensed, ready to hear anger, Boba sounded only thoughtful. “And then they saved you, and raised you.”

“Yes,” Din said, ready to swear that they hadn’t raised him to be like that, to do anything like what they’d done to Boba, but Boba still didn’t sound angry. “They didn’t make me into someone who could do that,” he tried to explain; Boba shook his head, leaned over to peek into the cradle. 

“You became just like the Mandalorian that saved you,” he said, so impossibly gently, so mystified at the idea of someone becoming what saved them; maybe he couldn’t imagine it because no one had come for him, and he’d never been saved. “You sound tired, maybe you should try sleeping again.” Din dreaded trying again, but then Boba stood, and if he was going to be there, maybe Din wouldn’t flinch at every imagined sound.

They brought the cradle downstairs and Boba lay down beside Din, and every sound Din heard was suddenly a comforting one, was the child’s little snores or Boba turning onto his side, and there wasn’t room to hear anything sinister, not when every flinch was met with a sleepy mumble from Boba and a reassuring touch in the dark. Din slept.

By the time Boba joined him in the cockpit, Din had watched Karga’s message three times. The hologram message had come in during the night, and when Boba came over to look at it, Din replayed it for him. Boba leaned against the chair, one hand on Din’s shoulder; Din tried to stay still.

“My friend,” Karga began, and Boba immediately snorted. “If you are receiving this transmission that means Fett didn’t kill you. You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive, too.”

“Am I a bad shot?” Boba asked, sounding affronted.

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, and I am heartened by the news that you were able to take the child from Fett. If you were able to kill him, I’m sure your praise will be heard around the galaxy.”

“Sure,” Boba muttered under his breath, “They can throw a joint parade for you and the Sarlacc.”

“They will not stop until they have their prize, and I understand that you cannot bring in the child yourself safely after what happened. So here is my proposition: return to Nevarro, bring the Child as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism.”

Din turned off the hologram, looked up at Boba. Boba drummed his fingers against Din’s armor, shaking his head.

“It’s a setup.” He sounded positive; Din had suspected as much, but – but he’d wanted to believe it wasn’t. He may never have trusted Karga fully, but he’d wanted to believe that someone he’d known for years would hesitate to turn on him. “We could still get what we want, but it’d be by working against him, not with him. We’d have to know exactly when to pull out of his plan.”

“I guess it’s this, or just… stay on the run forever with the kid,” Din said, and the very idea sent a shudder of anxiety through him. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer and he couldn’t subject the child to it, either. Couldn’t leave the child to be raised in a village because hunters would still be coming for it, couldn’t leave the child alone on the ship or bring it with them, couldn’t take Guild jobs because they still doubted him, or Imperial jobs because they’d still want the child, or criminal ones because he still had to raise the child to be _good,_ couldn’t –

“Hey,” Boba sank to his knees, extended a hand to touch Din’s wrist. “We can take Karga. I don’t care what he’s got planned, and it doesn’t matter. We’ll go in, kill the Client, get you cleared with the Guild, and keep the kid.”

“Karga could be working for them. We don’t know whose trap this is.”

“I don’t care whose it is,” Boba said, “Neither of them stands a chance.”

He sounded sure. He sounded like a legend who had faced worse and won, and Din _believed_ him, but he didn’t know if it was because of Boba’s reputation or because Boba sounded just like when he’d insisted on accompanying him onto the transport ship, because he wasn’t going to let Din face anything alone.

“You’re right,” Din said, exhaled slowly. “Okay. We’re going to need more people, at least to keep the kid safe. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have people on our side. I’ll send Karga a message soon, once we do that, and then we’ll go to Nevarro.”

“Oh, yeah? Where do you suggest we go first? Which of the many planets where we’ve made friends?” Boba flashed a grin, rose to his feet and stretched. “On the other hand, if I tell people I’ll be in Nevarro, they’ll show up to kill me, and at least some of them will probably shoot the Imperials, right? Statistically?”

“I was thinking Sorgan,” Din said, and Boba groaned. “I trust her, and I think she’d help us out. She liked the kid.”

“She hated me.”

“And after her, I’m thinking Kuiil.”

“I’m pretty sure he hated me, too.” Boba dropped into the other chair. “I am starting to feel like the problem. Imagine that.”

“You told Cara she was a nobody within two minutes of meeting her. I think that makes you the problem.”

“Speaking of being the problem,” Boba said, and when Din looked back, Boba was running a hand through his hair, amusement gone from his eyes. “You know I’d –”

“I know,” Din said. “Don’t.”

He saw the question leave Boba’s face, felt himself breathe a little easier. Boba had tried to protect them from himself once before, and Din had been half afraid he’d try it again; it was true, that Boba’s presence drew more attention to them, that if it was just Din, he would have an easier time disappearing to a lost corner of the galaxy where no one would come after the kid. Din never wanted to be without Boba again, though. It seemed like Boba was starting to understand that.

It didn’t take long to get to Sorgan, and Din was hoping Cara hadn’t gone far from where they’d found her. He was hoping to find that she’d somehow made a home for herself at the peaceful village they’d saved, but more realistically, he worried she’d grown bored of its calm eventlessness and left.

“Ba?” he heard the child calling downstairs, as he landed the ship in a clearing near the wooden building they’d first visited.

“It’s okay,” Boba was saying, as Din flipped off all the switches and joined them below deck. The child was trying to push Boba’s helmet across the floor to him.

“Ba,” the child said again. Boba wasn’t wearing much armor, nothing with his trademark green, had swapped those out for the battered backup set Din had stored in a cabinet. Din had questions, but held them back, just watched Boba pick up the child and walk down the Crest ramp. “Ba,” Din heard the child protesting again, pointing back towards the ship.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I didn’t forget it,” Boba said, and he stood at the bottom of the ramp, waiting for Din. No helmet. No recognizable armor. He looked both more and less familiar to Din.

Once they’d walked a short distance into the forest, and Din had given Boba at least ten involuntary, baffled looks, Boba spoke.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t want her to say no because of me.”

“She’d do it for the kid, even if she hates you.”

“I know. She’d be doing it for you, too. She’d do it for you guys, despite me.” Boba sighed. The child kept touching his face, just as mystified as Din to see him helmetless outside the ship. The tiny freckles on his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the iron gray showing up in his swept-over hair, the light brown of his eyes in the sunlight, Din didn’t know how they could feel both intimately familiar and entirely new all at once. “I’ll never stop being what I’ve done,” Boba eventually said, “but maybe if she sees I’m more than that, she won’t be so worried when she sees you’re still with me.”

They heard the crowd at the common house before the building had fully come into view among the trees. The child had fallen asleep in Din’s arms during his turn to carry it, and Din thought it might wake up as they entered the noisy building. A lively laser-tethered boxing match was in progress, and Din was relieved to see one of the participants was Cara, as well as pleased to see she was clearly winning.

The match didn’t last long; Din sat at a table to wait, the child continuing to sleep through the noise. Boba disappeared into the crowd and Din didn’t follow; he was hoping to speak to Cara alone first, and it seemed Boba had guessed that, because when Cara spotted Din and came over after she’d finished gathering her winnings, Boba still didn’t appear.

“Look who it is,” Cara dropped into the chair across from Din, tossed her sweaty hair from her face. “Change your mind about the peaceful village life?”

“Not exactly.” Over her shoulder, Din could see Boba getting involved with boxers; somehow, Din wasn’t surprised, didn’t exactly have to wonder if the need to throw himself into a fight was born of nervousness. “Came to see if you might be looking for work.”

“Might be.”

“The head of the Guild is trying to get rid of the group who have taken over Nevarro. Seems like a straightforward operation. They’re providing the plan and firepower, and I’m the snare.”

“With the kid?” At the words, the child sat up with a yawn; it waved at Cara across the table. She gave a tiny wave back.

“That’s why I’m coming to you.” He watched across the room as Boba handily won his match, with a series of quick jabs and his usual penchant for diving and working from the floor, a move that surprised his opponent.

“I don’t know. I’ve been advised to lay low. If anybody runs my chain code, I’ll rot in a cell for the rest of my life.”

“I thought you were a veteran.”

“I’ve been a lot of things since, most of them carry a life sentence. If I so much as book passage on a ship registered to the New Republic –”

“I have a ship. I can bring you there and back with a handsome reward. You can live free of worry.”

“I’m already free of worry. And I’m not in the mood to play soldier anymore. Especially fighting some local warlord.” She turned to watch the match when the cheers grew, gave an amused snort. Boba had beaten the same Zabrak Cara had just fought. “That guy doesn’t seem pleased to lose twice in a row.”

“It’s not a local warlord. He’s Imperial.”

“And you need _my_ help?” Cara’s expression shifted into something more worried, and she turned to face Din again. “He never came back?”

“He’s back.” Din swallowed, gaze drifting across the room again. “We need your help to keep the kid.”

“So – what, he just waltzed back? After abandoning you guys here?” Cara leaned back in her chair, expression clouding. “And you _let_ him?” She looked up at the sound of footsteps nearing their table. “Nice match,” she said. “I’d bet on you next time.”

“I don’t think you would,” Boba said, and Din watched Cara’s expression change as she tried to work through why he must have sounded only vaguely familiar. She watched Boba draw out the chair beside Din’s, and the suspicion on her face turned into reluctant understanding when the child immediately reached for him.

“Ba,” the child cooed, and Din passed it to Boba gently.

“Oh, no fucking way,” Cara said, openly staring. “It is you.”

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Din cleared his throat. “I don’t know if we could do it alone,” he said, “we just can’t take that chance. If we can kill the Client, we can keep the kid safe.”

“Interesting,” Cara said, gaze firmly on Boba, “for someone who already abandoned it.”

“I know.” Boba looked down at the child, ran a fingertip along its ear; the child gave a happy coo, ears wiggling. Din didn’t really know what to do with the information that now, Cara also knew the way Boba looked when he felt guilt and a clearly deep, damaging shame. She probably didn’t recognize the expression for what it was. “Here’s the thing,” Boba said, “Mandalorians believe in a clean slate. Once you become one of them, everything you did before – it’s forgotten.”

“Uh-huh,” Cara arched an eyebrow, but he continued.

“I don’t believe in that,” Boba said, and Din saw the surprise flicker across Cara’s face. “Not for me. Not for what I’ve been. I’m not asking you to forgive me, I’m asking you to help me keep it behind me, by helping the kid.”

“What makes you think you’re _good_ for the kid?” Cara asked, and as much as Din’s heart sank, he could see where it had come from. The people who dealt with the Empire always had the clearest understanding of what Boba had done, the actual actions committed with the ruthlessness he’d become known for, and the line between defending Boba’s intentions now and his past actions was a blurry one Din didn’t quite know how to walk. He couldn’t ever explain the way it felt to wake up terrified in the middle of the night and reach out to Boba; they wouldn’t be able to imagine feeling safe around him. Even Boba didn’t believe in the blank slate of a forgotten past. Din was a Mandalorian, though; he believed in redemption as a process.

“Maybe right now, all I can offer is a willingness to die for it,” Boba said, “I want to be able to offer more than that, though. I don’t want leaving to be the best thing I can do for them.”

Cara sighed, looking back at Din searchingly, as though she could examine his face and see answers there. Din thought she might be able to, somehow; she stared at him for a long, long moment. She’d seen them before, and Din wondered if things looked different now, if she could sense a difference.

“You must be cute under that helmet,” she said, and before Din could do more than choke on a protest at the non-sequitur, she went on, “Fine. I’m in.” Din didn’t know how to ask what on earth she’d meant, and when he looked over at Boba, he was busy fussing over the child and not looking at Din.

“Well, sooner this is over with, the better,” Boba stood with the child in his arms, and started to weave through the crowd of patrons. Din remained where he was, and Cara gave him the squinting, evaluating look he hadn’t realized he’d missed.

“So did you go find him, or what?”

“Kind of. I knew where to look.” Din tapped his fingers against the table, felt like he was fidgeting. “I just felt like he belongs here.”

“With you.” Cara gave a slow, knowing smile. Din kept fidgeting. “I don’t think this is how anyone thought the legend of Boba Fett the murder machine would end.”

“He’s not _ending,”_ Din pointed out.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Cara said, and for a moment, Din thought she might be threatening to kill Boba, but she added, “guess all it took to bring him down was someone he wanted to be better for. Disgusting,” she swatted Din’s shoulder, and stood. He kept staring for a moment, still trying to process anything that had happened. The tone-shifting alone had him thrown, but maybe it meant Cara was understanding more than he’d expected. The idea of Boba wanting to be better _for him_ made Din’s heart race.

“So what’s next?” Cara asked, leading him towards the exit. “Any more team members to pick up? How many friends do you guys have, because we’re already past the number I was expecting.” Outside, Boba was further down the path into the forest, the kid toddling by his feet.

“One more,” Din said. “Someone’s gotta watch the kid, and the list of people we trust isn’t exactly long.”

“I mean, you’re aware it’s being raised by _Boba Fett,_ right?” Cara grinned, bumped her shoulder into his. “It probably knows ten ways to kill someone already.” Din was genuinely surprised she wasn’t pointing out that he readily handed the kid off to someone with a galaxy-wide track record for violence, but maybe she really did see the truth in what Boba had told her, that he wanted it to stay firmly behind him. Something in Din’s chest ached whenever he thought of Boba saying all he had to offer the kid was a willingness to die, because that _wasn’t_ all he had to give. It was hard to articulate.

They caught up to Boba, and the child waved at them, held up a stick to Cara. She blinked down at it.

“It wants you to take it,” Boba said.

“It’s a stick.”

“Take it.”

“Why?”

“Just take the stick,” Boba sighed. Cara gave him a puzzled look, but complied. The child squealed happily, and then proceeded to hand her another.

They made a brief stop for supplies at a shop Cara directed them to; the child pointed to seemingly everything and its pouting became noisy protests when it wasn’t allowed to have a truly gigantic basket that Din thought might a krill farming tool.

“We don’t need to scream about it,” Boba said, as the child pointed emphatically and made surprisingly loud complaining sounds. “Let’s go.” He held the struggling child in his arms, paused to bump Din’s shoulder with his own. “We’ll wait outside. Here,” he retrieved from his pocket the laser-tethered boxing winnings he’d accumulated, dropped the coins into Din’s hand. “Do not buy it the basket.”

“I wouldn’t,” Din protested, and Boba gave him a crooked smile.

“You were thinking about it.” He left the shop, apparently unconvinced that the basket could, potentially, be a better cradle for the child. Din compromised by buying it a better blanket for the cradle, much to Cara’s amusement.

The child recovered from its tantrum quickly; Din found the reason once they were a distance from the shop. “Where’d you get that?” he asked. The child ignored him, continuing to toddle forward, still stuffing something into its mouth. He looked at Cara, who shrugged.

“Did you teach it to steal?” she asked Boba, who scoffed, scrunching his nose in irritation.

“When in my career do you think theft was necessary?”

“Tell me, did you have to pay back Solo’s bounty, since he didn’t stay caught?”

“I considered it payment for kicking me into the Sarlacc pit,” Boba said dryly, although Din knew he’d come back out of the pit with nothing, and, from the way he was shifting his shoulders and looking uncomfortable, didn’t enjoy thinking about it.

“That _is_ edible, right?” Din interrupted, and Boba leaned down, inspected what the kid was hurriedly shoving into its mouth.

“Yeah.”

Once the child had finished scarfing down whatever fruit it had stolen from the shop, it resumed handing Cara sticks as they walked along the path.

“I will never understand kids,” Cara said, once the child had handed her a dozen sticks of varying sizes. When the child somehow managed to float over a truly gigantic portion of a tree branch and giggled when Cara stared at it, Din wondered if the kid had picked up Boba’s sense of humor, too. The two of them seemed extremely amused when Cara was at a loss for what to do.

Aboard the Crest, Din programmed in their course while Boba gave Cara a tour of the weapons locker, so she could decide what she’d like to use. The child sat in its cradle, watching Din flip switches and initiate takeoff.

“This is still so weird,” Cara’s voice floated up to the cockpit.

“Did you think I didn’t _have_ a face?” Boba asked, sounding as irritated as though it was a serious question.

“Just because I know there’s a person under there doesn’t make this any less weird. Why did it matter, anyways? Everyone knows who you are already. Is it the Mandalorian thing?”

“No.”

The next thing Din heard was footsteps, and moments later, Boba was sitting in stony silence in the second chair. Din waited. The child was suspiciously quiet, too, although a glance over told Din it was because it had fallen asleep, face buried in its new blanket. It was hand-woven in one of the nearby villages, and Din liked to think it had come from the one they’d helped.

“It’s not because I think I’m a Mandalorian,” Boba eventually said, low like he didn’t want to be overheard. “I just don’t like being recognized. I _hate_ it.”

Except, well. Din had seen the way people looked at Boba; recognition was their first reaction. He couldn’t understand how recognizable armor was any substitute. Boba had already swapped back for it, and the battered green Durasteel told his story just as much as his face would have if anyone knew it. He didn’t want to hide from what he’d been, pretend he was someone else now that the armor was off. Approaching Cara without it had been an attempt to show her he was willing to be more than what he’d been, willing to be seen for the entirety of his faults, for the sake of the child.

Boba seemed convinced, though, that there was a difference between a recognizable face and recognizable armor, and maybe it was how much more personal it felt, to be recognized without armor on. There had to have been a time before, something that made him commit to the armor with such vehemence; he was still everything that had ever happened to him, after all, and the fact remained that if nothing bad had ever happened to him, he probably wouldn’t have spiraled in the direction he had. He was still everything he’d been, just like he’d said, but one of those things was _broken,_ and maybe that was the one he’d have the hardest time keeping in the past.

Din wanted to say _something,_ but everything felt either too big or too small, a false understanding or a missing of the point entirely. He fiddled with the silver ball the child often played with, screwing it tighter, unscrewing it. When he glanced over his shoulder, Boba was staring out the window, brows drawn and fist pressed against his mouth, miserably thoughtful.

“I like your face,” Din blurted out. Boba arched his eyebrows, and Din felt his ears get hot as he fished for something more articulate to say. “I mean. Seeing it. Uh. You get it.” Boba didn’t move his hand, but Din could see him smile behind it, eyes lit up with delighted amusement.

“Thank you.” He was still smiling, Din could even hear it in his voice; if he would die for Din, maybe he would do this too, keep his helmet off and let Din always see his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i love you guys SO MUCH. thank you for all your comments!!!! i love it!!!!! 
> 
> also please feel free to come yell with me on tumblr about boba fett (icehot13) it's my favorite hobby


	16. Chapter 16

The sun was just beginning to set when they arrived at Kuiil’s moisture farm. Din stopped at the bottom of the Crest’s ramp, watching the child toddling across the dirt. Cara walked beside it, seemingly unsure if she should slow down for the child or let it catch up to her. The child was determined to walk mostly in circles.

“If we have to go into hiding and quit bounty hunting,” Boba said, coming up behind Din and slinging an arm over his shoulders, looking out at the farm with the sun setting behind it, “I think you could ride blurrg in the galaxy’s first blurrg rodeo. Or is that already a thing?”

“Not much of a career choice.”

“Bantha tie-down roping,” Boba said thoughtfully. Every planet, every setting sun, had made Din think of being here, of Boba watching him from the paddock fence, of the first smile in his voice, an integral part of the legend of their beginning. Din wanted to lean into his side, lost in the lighthearted way Boba spoke to him, only him.

“I am not doing that.” He tilted his head just enough to glance over at Boba; it was getting to the point that Din could perfectly picture his face even with the helmet back on. He could tell when Boba was smiling just by the way he tilted his head. “Not because I _couldn’t.”_

“You’d just choose not to. Sure, I believe you.”

“Are we doing the right thing?” Din blurted out; it wasn’t the moment for it, but he kept thinking it, couldn’t _stop_. “Bringing in other people? We’re risking their lives. They could die for this.” Already, he wanted to go back, to retreat to the moments before when things were lighthearted. Boba sighed, looking from Din to the farm again. The child was throwing rocks into the air directly above its head, and Cara kept having to grab them before they could fall back down onto it.

“They’re choosing to come aboard,” Boba said. “I never worked with anyone, because at the beginning, I tried once. One guy sold us out, the other killed him but then left me behind, and I went to prison. We were all just using each other, really. I was young and single-minded, I didn’t realize that people could use me while I was using them. This is different,” he said, sounding sure. “This isn’t just people using each other for their own goal. They want to help you, because you’re doing the right thing.”

“Were you?” Din asked; Boba slid his arm from Din’s shoulders, crossed his arms over his chest.

“I was twelve and trying to kill the Jedi who killed my father,” he said, “so I thought I was. We’ll take care of them,” he said, nodding towards the farm, “that’s the difference.”

In the distance, Cara had stopped walking, turned back towards them. “Hey!” she yelled, “do I look like a free babysitter?”

“The kid’s trying to eat a rock,” Boba called back, “I certainly wouldn’t pay for you.”

“Get over here and carry it, then!” Cara shouted, but she picked the child up herself, lifting it up to ride on her shoulders. The child’s delighted sounds could be heard even from where they stood.

“We can keep them all safe, right?” Din asked, and Boba gave him a long look; the small downward tilt of his head told Din what he wouldn’t, that saving people wasn’t what he was known for and he suddenly wished it was.

More than anything else, Kuiil seemed amused at their return; he came over to inspect the child immediately, circling it like it was another animal he was taming.

“It hasn’t grown much,” he said, and Boba snorted a laugh. Kuiil beckoned them into his tent, and Din scooped up the child before following. He took one of the short seats, the child perched on his knee, content to sit still for the time being.

“Maybe it’s a strand-cast,” Din guessed, but Kuiil shook his head.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly.”

“Hey,” Boba muttered, and Din couldn’t help but smile. He reached to clear a folded blanket off the chair beside his, and Boba took it as a cue to sit beside him. Boba leaned over to take the child from Din, brought it up to his shoulder. “You’re not ugly,” he whispered, “and I know you weren’t engineered. You’re fine.” 

“This one, on the other hand,” Kuiil pointed to Cara, “looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora.”

“Naah,” Boba interjected, “too volatile.”

“You’re one to talk,” Cara didn’t seem terribly bothered, though, too pleased with Kuiil’s remark. Din had suspected they’d get along well, something about their shared bluntness made them seem incredibly similar.

“This is Cara Dune,” Din introduced her, “she was a shock-trooper.”

“You were a dropper?” Kuiil asked, and when Cara asked if he’d served, shook his head. “On the other side, I’m afraid. But I’m proud to say that I paid out my clan’s debt, and now I serve no one but myself.”

“Well,” Cara smiled, the return of the soft look she’d given Din before, “sounds like we have a common enemy, then.”

There was the sound of clattering crockery, and when Din looked up, his first instinct was to jump to his feet, ripping his blaster from its holster, because the IG-11 droid stood in the doorway. Cara had copied him, pointing her blaster at the droid.

“Would anyone care for some tea?” IG-11 asked placidly; it held a tea tray. Din blinked at the absurd sight. The droid looked almost identical to the day when Din had shot it, looking between them with the same jerky head movements, and Din was _positive_ it was about to act the same as it had on that day, too, and start shooting.

“Please lower your blasters,” Kuiil said, “he will not harm you.”

“That thing is programmed to kill the baby.” Din went to point to the child in protest, but the spot beside him was empty; he turned in a near-full circle before he found Boba, leaning back around a dresser at the back of the room. The child poked its head around the wardrobe, waved.

“Not anymore,” Kuiil waved them back over. IG-11 placed the tray on the table, and Boba stalked back over, the child still held tight in his arms, despite its wiggling. “It was left behind in the wake of your destruction. I found it, laying where it fell, devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic.”

“Ba,” the child squirmed, reaching towards the tea tray. Boba stepped closer to Din, didn’t put the child down.

“The child requests a cookie,” IG-11 pointed out, and Boba snarled in its direction. 

“Little remained of its neural harness. Reconstruction was quite difficult, but not impossible. It had to learn everything from scratch. This is something that cannot be taught with the twist of a spanner! It requires patience, repetition. I spent day after day reinforcing its development with patience and affirmation. It developed a personality as its experiences grew.”

“Is it still a hunter?” Din watched the child abruptly stop its wiggling, and instead focus intently on the tray, until one of the cookies on the plate floated into its little hands.

“No,” Kuiil said, “but it will protect.”

“Tea?” IG-11 offered. Boba gave another disgruntled sound.

“Maybe you could leave us alone for a few minutes,” he said tightly, “so we can talk to Kuiil.”

“Very well,” the droid obeyed; the tent remained silent for a long moment after it had left.

“We’ve run into some problems,” Din said, taking his seat again.

“I figured as much. Why else would you return?” Kuiil took a teacup for himself, offered one to Cara; she sat beside Kuiil, accepted the cup.

“We’d like to hire your services.”

“I’m retired from services.”

“We need someone to protect the little one,” Boba spoke up. “Someone we can trust.”

“I’m not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol.”

“ _No,”_ Din protested, more vehemently than he’d meant. He paused, took a breath. The thought of the droid near the child, ever alone with it – this droid was, for all intents and purposes, the same droid that had destroyed his home. All droids were. “I don’t want it anywhere near the child.”

“Why are you so distrustful of droids?”

“It tried to kill the kid,” Boba interrupted, “why would we hire a babysitter who’s literally already tried to kill the kid it would be watching?”

“It was programmed to do so. Droids are not good or bad, they are neutral reflections of those who imprint them.”

“I’ve seen otherwise,” Din muttered. He knew, logically, that droids were machines, that they were programmed, but there was just – just a slightly too-human element to them. It wasn’t the machinery half, it was the part that resembled humans, and Din wouldn’t hand _the child_ over to it. He didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until he felt Boba run a fingertip over the back of his hand, the tiny motion making him relax just a little.

“Do you trust me?” Kuiil asked. Din nodded. “Then you will trust my work. IG-11 will join me. And we do not do it for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery. None will be free until the old ways are gone, forever.” He looked over the rim of his teacup at Boba for a long moment. “You worked for them freely,” he said. “Am I to believe you’ve seen the error of your ways?”

“Yes.”

Kuiil didn’t seem to need the same explanation Cara had. Maybe he’d seen more, so he needed to hear less; maybe he recognized something in Boba that she hadn’t.

“The blurrgs will join me as well,” Kuiil added, looking the tiniest bit amused when Din gave a surprised sound, “I have spoken.”

They set about leaving immediately; Din half wanted to wait, to ask for just a few more hours, to watch the sun sink all the way below the horizon. Something had happened on this planet, and returning it to it like this, with both Boba and the child still safely with him, it felt like a good omen Din wanted to breathe in for as long as he could.

“Ready to go?” Boba came to stand beside him at the foot of the ramp. Kuiil was shepherding the last blurrg into the cargo hold from the larger ramp, its heavy footsteps the only sound for seemingly miles.

“Is this where you decided you might want to stick around?” Din asked, waving a hand towards Kuiil’s farm.

“Here?” Boba gave a surprised laugh, which Din hadn’t been expecting. Had it been much later? He’d thought it would have been here, the first time Boba felt like his partner in anything, the first time he’d sounded like a living, breathing legend and the first time he’d sounded almost happy. Boba gave his little shoulder-shifting shrug, looked away. “You came for me when I was dying,” he said, with a quiet indignance that almost sounded like shyness, “I thought Mustafar was just another pit I would die in, and you came for me. That was when.” He lifted his head, gestured hastily towards the ship. “Are you ready to go? Cara’s going to steal the ship if you take any longer.”

“I doubt she’d do that.” Din watched Boba stride back up the ramp. With a last look at the sun as it set over the planet where Boba had already known he wanted to stay with Din, where they were already becoming whatever it was they were meant to become, Din followed him.

“You just want an excuse to hit me.” Boba sat on the floor with his back against the weaponry locker doors, legs outstretched; the child sat beside him, doing its best to mimic his position, though it was mostly lying on the ground. Cara snorted.

“Arm wrestling doesn’t involve punching.”

“I’m sure with you, it does.” Boba frowned. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“It’s _strange,”_ Cara insisted; it was an argument they’d had at least four times already. Boba had taken his helmet back off, and Cara had no shortage of puzzled looks for him.

“It’s not strange, you’re just not used to it,” Din interrupted; Boba always gave her a narrow-eyed look when she said it that made Din suspect he was regretting showing anyone his face, and that was the last thing Din wanted. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cara leapt at the offer, and within moments, Din was finding out that he’d severely underestimated her.

A few moments after that, he realized he’d also underestimated the child; right when Cara was about to slam Din’s arm into the table, she abruptly started gasping for air.

“No, stop!” Din whipped around to look at the child, who was squinting at Cara with focused determination as she struggled. “We’re friends! It’s okay! Stop! No!”

“Hey,” Boba pushed the child’s outstretched hand down with two fingers, “stop that. We don’t choke our friends,” he said, very calm but so sternly that the child immediately stopped. It blinked huge eyes at him, as Cara gasped for air after being released from the invisible hold.

“Not okay!” Cara said, as Kuiil made fascinated sounds from his spot in the cargo hold.

“Curious,” he murmured.

“Curious?! It almost killed me!”

“The story you told me of the mudhorn makes more sense,” Kuiil said. Din sighed, looked over at the child. Boba had brought it over to its cradle, was kneeling beside it.

“I know it looked like she was hurting him, and you wanted to help,” Boba was telling it, “it’s scary when he gets hurt, I know. But I promise, Cara is nice, and she won’t hurt him.”

“I’ve heard rumors of this,” Kuiil said, and Din looked back over at him, “what the child does.”

“What? When you worked for the Empire?” Cara asked; she seemed to have recovered, Din was relieved to see. In the corner, Boba was still quietly talking to the child, but Din couldn’t make out the words in the midst of Cara and Kuiil’s voices.

“When I was sold to the Empire,” Kuiil corrected, “in indentured servitude.”

“Sorry,” Cara glanced over at Boba, as if to make sure he wasn’t listening, “if it wasn’t voluntary, how are you free now? I didn’t think they ever let anyone go.”

“I bought my freedom, through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am nor whom I shall serve.”

“I understand.” Cara looked in Boba’s direction again, and Din could see it on her face, that she was wondering how he could have voluntarily worked for the same people who enslaved Kuiil.

“Perhaps,” Kuiil said, quietly, “an unfortunate beginning can make some believe they have no other choice.”

They both grew so silent, that Din could overhear Boba’s very soft voice again. “So, we’re going to have a time-out so you can think of a better way to tell us you’re upset,” he was saying, placing the child into the bed compartment, and climbing in after it, “just three minutes, okay?”

“Maybe you can make some improvements to its cradle?” Din asked Kuiil, to break the silence, “It has a lot of blankets, but the container itself could use some improvements.”

“I shall fabricate a better one.” Kuiil nodded towards Cara, “I’d like to demonstrate how I won my freedom with the skill of my hands. I am proud of my craftsmanship and would value the opportunity.”

As Kuiil worked, Cara joined Din in the cockpit, taking Boba’s usual seat. “So we’re going to Nevarro,” she said, as Din rechecked the flight plan.

“Have you ever been?”

“No. We lost all of our forces there. The city’s dug in pretty deep. There’s no cover when you drop in. Stayed in Empire control until the end of the war. What station is the Imperial?”

“Hard to tell. No insignia anymore. We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid and more Imps have reinforced since.”

“There’s something more going on,” Cara said, confirming what Din had hoped was just a paranoid suspicion. He was sure of it, that there was something looming overhead, something larger and obscured, that they’d only know its size when it was too close for them to escape.

“We’ll find out more when we land.” He turned at the sound of metallic footsteps, already frowning at the sight of IG-11.

“I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?”

“Not hungry.”

“He’ll take it up here,” Cara answered for him, and IG-11 nodded, descended the ladder.

“Under no circumstances does that thing leave the ship.”

“You’ve got a real thing for droids, don’t you?”

“I’ve got a real thing for _that_ droid,” Din muttered, although she wasn’t actually wrong. All droids were the same. This one may as well have been one of the ones that came to his village, as far as he was concerned.

“Kuiil said he rewired it.”

“That droid was designed to kill things. I don’t care how much wiring he replaced, it goes against its nature.”

“You can completely rewire droids, that’s why they’ve never fully replaced soldiers,” Cara insisted. “Why else do you think the Empire didn’t have a droid army instead of Stormtroopers? Or the clones? It’s easier to corrupt a drone than a person. Faster, at least.”

“I’m not leaving it alone with the child.”

“Should be a short job, anyways. Take out the head Imp and the rest will run like rats.” Cara stood, stretched. “I’m sending it up with food, though. I promise it won’t poison you.”

“For all you know,” Din mumbled. Cara rolled her eyes, but she stopped before leaving.

“So he’s really never seen your face?” she asked, lingering. Din didn’t have to ask who she was referring to, although he wanted to ask how it had become such an automatic assumption to everyone else, what she was seeing between them that had clued her in.

“Part of the Creed.”

“But you’ve seen his.”

“He doesn’t follow the Creed.”

“Don’t you think he’d like to? See your face, I mean,” Cara said, and Din – he didn’t know. How was he supposed to know? He hated the implication that he was hiding things from Boba, that suddenly, the Creed felt ill-fitting to what he wanted, but what was the point if he only believed in it until it was inconvenient? Wasn’t that how Boba had always treated laws and codes, wasn’t that why he’d become so lost? Din needed something consistent to follow. There was still a _purpose_ to the Creed, it was still a protection, from – from everything. Anything.

“He knows my name,” Din finally said, because she _had_ to know he trusted Boba that much, that he’d been affected that deeply. When he looked over his shoulder, he couldn’t read Cara’s expression, but it was a gentle one.

“Good,” she said, “I’ll send the killer chef droid up with food, okay?”

When she’d gone, Din slumped further down in his seat, staring out at the blackness of space, barely noticing the passing stars.


	17. Chapter 17

“I could come with you,” Boba said; he’d been standing at the entrance of the cargo hold in silence ever since they’d landed on Nevarro, and now that they’d spotted Karga finally arriving to the meeting point, Boba spoke as though the words had to be dragged out of him. Din looked over his shoulder, nearly regretted it as the blurrg he was trying to climb onto narrowly missed stepping on his foot. Boba was running his hand through his hair and looking nervous.

“We need you to come later,” Din reminded him gently, “it’ll be okay until then.”

“I know.” Boba watched Din try again to climb on, stepped forward to catch Din’s foot and help him upward. “I should be with you guys, though.” It was so quiet, Din almost didn’t hear him over the sound of Kuiil lowering the Crest’s ramp. “Din,” Boba said, one hand still on Din’s ankle, but he said nothing more, and when Din looked down, Boba was still watching him, eyes full of worry.

“He’s got two guards with him,” Cara called back, already off the ship. Boba let go of Din, stepped back as the blurrg paced.

“We’ll be okay.” He wished he could promise more, could be something so legendary that Boba would have no reason to worry. Boba crossed his arms over his chest, looking like he was being left behind. “I’ll keep the little one safe,” Din promised. Could his need to keep the child safe be enough, in the face of all this? He felt so fueled by it he thought it could be, because how could things go wrong when he was so _determined_ they go right? Din needed to protect the child from this and from everything else that could come for it, and he knew that was why Boba looked so reluctant to leave them, because within him was the same burning need.

“I know.” Boba stepped over to the cradle, reached in to pet the child’s ear with a fingertip. “Bye, kid,” he whispered, the child whimpering up at him, “See you soon.” Din started to lead the blurrg off the ship, but he looked back in time to see Boba lean down to kiss the top of the child’s head, still whispering to it, the child cooing softly. If something happened to either of them – would the child remember this? Both of them? It was fifty years old, but Din didn’t know its entire lifespan – would it remember such a small amount of time, spent with two Mandalorians who tried to change the whole world for it? The child had pivoted Din’s entire life, surely factored into Boba leaving his ongoing legend behind, and even if the child only remembered small pieces of this – that would be enough. Even if it only remembered how Din spoke to it, how Boba rocked it to sleep, that would be enough.

They had a plan, but any plan that involved them splitting up felt wrong, and Din hated leaving Boba behind on the ship, hated taking the child away from him, hated every part of it. Outside, Karga waited, flanked by two blaster-wielding guards; there was nothing else for miles, just rocky lava fields and endless gray sky. Din’s heart ached for the sunset.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando,” Karga called over, “but things have gotten complicated since you were last here. It appears that introductions are in order, as apparently, we’ve both provided a security detail. I recommend the shock-trooper guards the ship, these lava fields are lousy with Jawas.”

“She’s coming with me.” Din didn’t relish the idea of having to chase down another Jawa ship, but he wasn’t about to leave Cara behind, either.

“I don’t speak Jawa,” Cara said, “what would we even talk about if they showed up?” She smirked when she saw Din looking at her. On the ground, Karga looked furious, and Din was suddenly so used to this feeling, having someone on his side. This, he thought, had to be a feeling the Mandalorians understood from the very beginning, the belonging to something when they were facing an angry world. This was how they were all supposed to be, not journeying to the surface alone to avoid being seen, this was how their culture had been meant to be structured. Din had never felt quite so much like he understood their valuing of community as when facing a threat with someone at his side. He wasn’t alone; he’d never felt quite so much like a Mandalorian.

“But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a rebel dropper is with us, they’ll all get their hackles up.” Beside Din, Cara sighed in exasperation at Karga’s words.

“She’s coming.”

“Fine, fine. At least cover your tattoo. No need to flaunt it. Now, where is the little one?” Karga asked, and Din wanted to jump off the blurrg and punch him for calling the child _the little one_ as if he had any right to. That was what _they_ called it. Din clenched his teeth, but directed the cradle to float over to Karga.

“So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about,” Karga said, stepping forward and lifting the child from the crib. Din thought he might be incapable of stopping himself from physically attacking Karga, had to grip the blurrg’s reins so tightly his fingers hurt, just to stop himself from moving. “What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.” Mercifully, he placed the child back into the cradle. “Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.” The moment the child was out of Karga’s hands, Din brought the cradle zipping back to him, closed the top, just to be sure.

“The sun drops fast on Nevarro,” Karga went on, “We can walk for a spell and camp out on the river bank, then make our way into town at first light.”

The lava fields felt endless as they made their way towards the town, just mile after mile of rocky landscape that Din thought he might never escape. It felt like a particular kind of nightmare, being on the verge of fighting to keep the child but not quite there yet, about to be betrayed by Karga but not just yet, everything an _almost_ that Din was ready to heave himself into, if just to escape the limbo of waiting.

Even when they finally stopped to make a camp, the anxious non-state remained, almost worse now that they weren’t even moving forwards anymore. Din had to force himself to sit still, something that was more and more difficult every time he noticed Karga watching the child. Despite knowing that the other two bounty hunters were doubtlessly there to kill him, Karga felt like the real threat to Din.

“I guess the little bugger’s a carnivore,” Karga commented, watching Kuiil feed the child meat, “never seen anything like it! They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie.” He didn’t believe that, Din was sure of it. Karga was many things, and unfortunately, one of them was smart. He knew no one in the Empire would bother paying just to collect creatures. Everything had a purpose. Everyone died for something, was killed _for something,_ and the failure of much of the galaxy to see that was why the Empire’s reappearance would take them all by surprise, Din was sure of it. Now that he was entrenched in this, he could see how small things linked together, how seemingly random events later became pieces in a greater machine. This was Boba’s terrifying world, and Din was still learning how to live in it; it was to wait, with a sick feeling of dread heavy in his stomach, to see how things he hadn’t understood would later slot into place. The child wasn’t a curiosity purchased on a whim; it was part of something.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Din said, just so Karga would stop talking about the child, would stop _looking_ at it.

“We both enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table, and you kill him.” Karga shrugged. Din saw Cara roll her eyes.

“What about his reinforcements?” Cara asked.

“They’re all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, they’ll all scatter.”

“And what if they don’t?” Din asked, and Karga waved his question away.

“They will.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“If, for argument’s sake, a few of the don’t realize that I’m their best path to alternative employment, and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild hunters along with that battle-hardened shock trooper will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“How many will there be?”

“No more than four. He travels with, at most, a fire team. Trust me,” Karga said, and Din nodded along. _It’s a setup,_ Boba had said, with the disgusted resignation of a man who had seen many attempts at such betrayals and had carried them out himself, and he’d known exactly how it would unfold.

_How I would have done it,_ Boba had said, misery on his face, this one of the ways he was the most familiar to Din: the quietness of his voice a plea for forgiveness he refused to ask for, the blunt honesty of his words the only atonement he knew. He asked only to use his past sins to help Din now, and turned away from forgiveness.

Karga would have enough specifics to sound convincing. He’d have exaggerated displays of confidence in Din, like setting up camp together and sleeping in front of him. He’d treat Din like he’d already had his name cleared. He would sound like he completely understood the situation at hand, and that Din could trust his evaluation. _Trust me,_ he would say.

_They always say that,_ Boba had said, alone with Din in the cockpit last night, as they neared Nevarro, _people who you trust never need to say that._ They would try to kill Din at night, or by surprise right outside the town. Not in between, Boba had said, sounding sure but also guilty, because people were always on their guard the most in between waypoints. He hadn’t thought Karga would be able to pull off shooting Din in broad daylight as easily as at night, and had made Din promise he wouldn’t fall asleep.

It happened at night, just like Boba had said it would. Din was lying motionless, faking sleep, when he heard the first movement. One of the bounty hunters, sliding his blaster out of its holster, almost silently. To his credit, he went so slowly he almost wasn’t visibly moving, and they’d clearly coordinated with some imperceptible sign, because the second bounty hunter had begun to do the same.

Cara was asleep; that had been part of the plan, which she’d protested vehemently. “How am I supposed to _fall asleep_ knowing they’re going to try and kill me?” she’d said, and Boba had insisted it was necessary that she and Kuiil sleep, for authenticity. No one would know if Din was sleeping, but the other two wouldn’t be able to fake it effectively enough. “You’d better be able to take them on your own,” Cara had teased Din, but since she’d been able to fall asleep relatively quickly, she seemed to have quite a bit of confidence in him.

Din waited. The bounty hunter on his left nearly had his blaster all the way out of the holster. The right was only moments behind him. Din held his breath. One moment more. Sunrise would be in less than an hour, and they’d waited until the very last hour of darkness. He could hear the child’s tiny snores.

The first bounty hunter pointed his weapon towards Din, and Din dove at him. He shot behind himself at the second bounty hunter while pinning down the first, and within moments, both were dead. Cara had woken up the moment the struggle began, and when Din looked over, she was pointing her blaster at Karga, who was still looking around like he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“Care to explain?” Din asked Karga, getting to his feet. He joined Cara in standing over Karga, after a glance towards the cradle; Kuiil was awake and checking on the child. He had the reins of one blurrg in his hand, though the other two had bolted at the sounds of blasterfire. “I thought we had a plan.”

“Look, Mando,” Karga sat up, hands raised, voice placating, “can you blame me? What chance could I have, other than to kill you and take the kid? But go on. You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn’t violate the Code. But if you do,” he added, and Din knew Karga had come across his trump card, “this child will never be safe.

“We’ll take our chances,” Cara said, “If you’re dead, we’re all a little safer.”

“The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you? Hunters have already come after you. _Boba Fett_ himself went after you! Do you think others won’t follow?”

“This is ridiculous,” Cara said, possibly just at the thought of Boba coming after Din. Din rolled his eyes, glad neither could see him.

“Perhaps you should let him speak,” Kuiil spoke up; he stood beside the child’s cradle with a hand on its edge, and Din could see the tiny green hand reaching up to clutch his fingers.

“Listen, we both need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him, and then you two –” Karga started, but the thought of the child leaving his sight made Din fill with terrified fury.

“No.”

“Let’s just kill him and get out of here,” Cara offered. “We don’t even have to deal with his body, something will come along and eat him sooner or later. Maybe those Jawas will want it.”

“He’s right,” Din said, hopefully after a long enough pause that it would sound to Karga like he’d had to consider both possibilities, like he and Cara didn’t already know the plan they were aiming for. Cara was a much better actor, although Din suspected she was just bluntly speaking her mind more than she was acting. “As long as the Imp lives, he’ll send hunters after the child.”

“Yeah,” Cara said, and for a moment, she sounded genuinely worried, biting her lip and looking at Din with a grave expression. “Like Boba Fett.” Din narrowed his eyes at her, wished she could see it. Later, when all of this was over, he was going to strangle her. He could tell she was finding her own remarks absolutely hilarious, and that she wasn’t biting her lip from anxiety, but to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

“Exactly,” Din said flatly, knowing she’d understand the tilt of his head as a substitute for a glower. “Bring me,” Din told Karga, “tell him you captured me. Get me close to him, and I’ll kill him.”

“That’s a good idea,” Karga agreed, like they’d known he would.

“I’m coming with you,” Cara added, and Karga was already shaking his head.

“No, no. That would make them suspicious.”

“I don’t care. I’m coming.”

“Tell them she caught me,” Din offered. Everyone would believe it, surely; they’d all believed that Boba had captured him, after all. “She comes. Kid goes back to the ship. Kuiil will ride back to the Crest with the kid and seal them in. When they’re inside, they’ll engage ground security protocols and nothing on this planet will breach those doors.”

Karga looked like he wanted to protest several parts of the plan, but with both Din and Cara’s blasters pointed at him, he refrained from arguing. “Fine,” he relented. “We can both get what we want.”

Din made sure Kuiil still had his comlink, then approached the cradle. He hated that Karga was watching him, as he leaned over the cradle and picked up the child. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, pausing with his back to the rest of the group, “we’ll come for you, I promise.” The child whimpered. Din wasn’t ready to hand him over yet, wanted to plead for more time, because what if this didn’t work? What if he didn’t make it back to the child? What if neither of them did?

“Don’t forget to cover your stripes,” Kuiil was saying to Cara, “Do not make yourself a target.” Din kept staring at the child, thought he might be physically unable to walk away from it.

“We’ll be back,” Din murmured, and then he forced himself to give the child to Kuiil and watch them ride in the opposite direction, away from him.

As Din followed Karga and Cara towards the town, Cara elbowed him in the side, gave him a sympathetic look. _It’ll be okay,_ she mouthed, and Din wanted to believe her. He knew this was just part of the plan, part of _his_ plan, but that hadn’t prepared him for how wrong it would feel, to be apart from the child, apart from Boba.


	18. Chapter 18

“Chain code.” Stormtroopers stood guard at the city entrance; there were only three at the outermost entrance, but their presence transformed the city somehow, made it look unfamiliar and dangerous. It felt like the ghost of Mos Eisley, this the town that had died and become Mos Eisley as it was now, with its silent parade of staked Stormtrooper helmets.

“I have a gift for the boss,” Karga announced to the Stormtrooper who still stood waiting for his ID card. Even while technically a hostage, Karga was still a showman, and managed to sound incredibly smug, gesturing towards Din with a flourish. Din’s hands were cuffed before him, and though he was no more a hostage than he’d been last time he was here, the differences were vast. Last time, he’d believed he _was,_ and he’d been in safe hands the entire time.

“Chain code,” the Stormtrooper repeated. Karga produced his ID card and the Stormtrooper scanned it. “Give you twenty credits for the helmet,” he said, and for a moment, Din had no idea what he was talking about.

“Not a chance. That’s going on _my_ wall,” Karga said emphatically. Din rolled his eyes.

“On your wall?” he repeated under his breath.

“Go with it,” Karga said, as though it hadn’t been an alarmingly specific response. The Stormtrooper waved them through the gate, and Karga led them into the city. Cara was looking around, and Din knew she was counting Stormtroopers. They were everywhere, loitering in groups and swarming around corners; their identical armor made them feel more numerous, like there was an endless supply of them coming from somewhere, their production unstoppable.

“You said four. There are a lot more than four troopers,” Cara whispered. “Maybe you can’t count, but I _can.”_

“Four guarding the client. Many more here in town,” Karga clarified. Din wasn’t surprised; Boba had said Karga would downplay the number of troopers. He’d guessed Karga would claim three. Most of what Boba had said, Din would have known on his own, but he’d listened because Boba was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, brown eyes fixed on Din, gesturing with his hands and explaining like he thought that if he prepared Din enough, they’d all be okay. Din had watched Boba’s hands, suddenly struck by their size, and how if he died on Nevarro, he’d never know how they’d feel on his skin; maybe he’d been fixed on that because it was the smallest of all the things he’d lose, because if he’d looked at Boba’s face and thought about dying, he would never have left the ship.

 _He’ll betray you,_ Boba had said, and when Din had reminded Boba that he knew, Boba had shaken his head. _There’ll be a point where it feels like he’s stopped,_ Boba had said, _and that will be when it really happens._

“Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse,” Karga was explaining to Cara, as though it was somehow Din’s fault that Stormtroopers had flooded the town and Karga was an innocent bystander. “Most of the Guild hunters have left to find work elsewhere.”

“Slip him his blaster,” Cara insisted, but Karga shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Karga led them down the familiar path Din had taken to the Client’s safehouse, past the courtyard where the Guild had shot at them and past the alleyway where Boba had waited for Din. Looking back now was to newly imagine what must have happened, that he’d left Boba on the ship and Boba had come for him, maybe hoping but maybe _knowing_ that Din would feel the same way as him, and need to get the child back. It looked like an entirely different street, with Stormtroopers walking past, without the child in Din’s arms. The cradle that floated in their wake was empty, an absence like a black hole that drew Din’s attention with a gravity he wasn’t strong enough to fight. The child was with Kuiil, he kept reminding himself, with Kuiil and safe.

The plan had been for Boba and IG-11 to leave the Crest almost immediately after Karga showed up; they would take a longer route to the town so Karga wouldn’t notice them, travel longer into the night so they could arrive earlier, slip into the town and be ready with an escape route when Din and Cara arrived. All they had to do was get in, kill the client, and escape back to the ship. Boba was in the town already, according to the plan, but Din couldn’t shake the conviction that he’d _feel_ it somehow. It didn’t feel like Boba was there yet, but Din was just being ridiculous; he wouldn’t be able to tell, wouldn’t be able to sense it and feel safer for it.

“Here we are,” Karga said, as they were ushered into the building by a Stormtrooper. In the room it brought them to, there were three more troopers, standing with their backs to the wall. “You see, four,” Karga whispered. Din resisted the urge to sigh. “Look what I brought you,” Karga announced to the client, who sat at one of the booths, watching their approach with clinical fascination. “As promised!”

He led them up to the booth, and Din hated that he couldn’t _do_ anything yet, even though here he was, the Imperial who was planning to take the child from them. Two feet away, and Din was handcuffed, waiting, allowing it. “What exquisite craftsmanship,” the client reached to caress Din’s Beskar shoulderplate, and Din tried not to shudder. “It is amazing how beautiful Beskar can be when forget by its ancestral artisans.” He turned to Karga, gave a smile that couldn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?”

“I would be obliged,” Karga said. Cara slid into the booth, and when Din failed to respond to the cue as she had, Karga pushed Din into the booth as well. More Stormtroopers had entered the room, and Din tried not to turn back to watch them, tried to discern how many there were by the sound of their footsteps alone. At least six, he’d guess.

“It is a shame that your people suffered so,” the client said, looking at Din again and leaning in eagerly. “Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable. Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire improves every system it touches. Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos.” The client reached to touch the closed cradle, smiled again. “I would like to see the baby.”

“It is… asleep,” Karga stammered out.

“We will all be quiet. Open the pram.”

Din froze, and beside him, Cara gave a tiny flinch, her gaze also fixed on the empty cradle. Before anyone could react, a Stormtrooper approached the client, leaned down to whisper to him. “Don’t think me rude,” the client said, standing, “I must take a call.”

As they watched him walk away, Din slid his hands under the table and loosened his handcuffs. “Give me the blaster,” he whispered to Karga, and moments later, felt its barrel being pressed into his palm. The end was in sight, Din kept telling himself, although there was a pool of dread in his chest that kept trying to tell him that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t be this simple, this small. Din wasn’t living in his old landscape anymore; giants rose out of the fog, here, looming, shifting figures he kept thinking were full size until they kept approaching, kept growing.

“You get one shot,” Karga said, as though that was the challenge; one shot was too few, but not for the reasons Karga thought. One shot would kill this one man, and Din just couldn’t convince himself that this was it, that the enemy on the horizon was this, standing at eye level with Din and killed with one shot.

“This is bad,” Cara whispered, “you said four.”

“Well,” Karga shrugged, “there are more. What can I tell you?”

The client had brought up a hologram, and a figure flickered to life. “Have they brought the child?” the man asked, and the client nodded. Din tried to lean forward, to get a better look at the hologram, but its image told him nothing. His heart had begun to race, though.

“Yes, they have. Currently, it is sleeping.”

“You may want to check again,” the man said, but then he was gesturing to someone they couldn’t see. Before Din could understand what was happening, blasterfire was raining in through the window, and all he could see were flashes of red light. He ducked beneath the table, flung a hand up to drag Cara down as well. Whoever was shooting wasn’t shooting at them specifically, because when the client had fallen, the shooting stopped. The four Stormtroopers lay on the floor, and Din had a brief moment to wonder if they’d been aligned too closely with the client, or just standing too close, expendable because there was an army of identical troopers just outside.

Din pointed to the window, and Cara followed his cue, sliding out from under the table and moving to the side of the window, as Din followed suit. An Imperial firing squad waited outside the window, complete with a transport full of Stormtroopers disembarking behind them.

“Four?!” Cara hissed. Stormtroopers were flooding the courtyard, and Din’s heart just kept sinking. The threat was looming closer, and he kept having to look further and further up to see it all, the shape still obscured but now towering. “This is bad!”

Din tapped his commlink. “Kuiil?” he asked, “are you back to the ship yet? Do you copy?”

“Yes!” Kuiil’s voice came through, small but audible.

“Are you back to the ship yet?” Din asked, although he knew, he knew Kuiil couldn’t be. The ship was three hours out by blurrg, and Kuiil could only be halfway there.

“Not yet.”

“Just be prepared to bail,” Din said. “We’re pinned, and it could get bad.” He hadn’t been expecting the client to die. He hadn’t been expecting the TIE fighter that was landing in the courtyard. Din pressed his back against the wall, took a few breaths. It didn’t matter, he tried to tell himself. They’d been prepared for more Stormtroopers than Karga had said, and whether the client or someone else was in charge, it didn’t matter. Din would kill anyone that tried to take the child from them, it didn’t matter who it ended up being.

A man stepped out of the TIE fighter, strode towards their building; the Stormtroopers parted for him, every last one silent.

“You have something I want,” the man said; his voice wasn’t so much as loud but deep, and it seemed to resonate throughout the courtyard. “You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of. But you do not.”

“Who is this guy?” Cara whispered. Din didn’t know, shook his head. The oncoming storm kept looming larger.

“In a few moments,” the man continued, “it will be mine. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

“Kuiil?” Din spoke into the commlink again. “Are you still there?”

Silence.

“Kuiil? Come in, Kuiil! Do you copy?”

Silence. Silence.

“Kuiil!”

This wasn’t part of the plan. Kuiil was supposed safe with the child, safe from anything that could harm them. This would only work if they were _safe._

“When does murder machine show up to extract us?” Cara whispered, “because now would be a _great_ time.”

“He’s coming,” Din said, and at least that, Din could promise. Everything else could go wrong, but nothing was a match for him. Outside, the Stormtroopers were unpacking parts of a weapon, beginning to set it up.

“They’re setting up an E-Web,” Cara said, pointing, as though Din might not have noticed. Din tipped his head back against the wall. It was looking worse than they’d expected, but – but it would be fine. Everything would be fine.

“It’s over,” Karga said, peering out from beneath the table, across the room from them. “Do you see that thing? It’s over.”

“I would prefer to avoid any further violence,” the man called out to them, “and encourage a moment of consideration. Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporized mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model. Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore –”

He kept talking, but all Din heard was his own name. How could this man _know_ it? No one knew it. _No one knew it._ The last record of it was on Mandalore and known only by Mandalorians, and there was only supposed to be one person who spoke it aloud now, and Din didn’t want to hear it like this, not in this man’s unfamiliar voice, not in this moment before disaster. The record had been on Mandalore, and suddenly, Din knew who this was.

“-the structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end.”

“What do you propose?” Karga yelled out, getting to his feet.

“Reasonable negotiation,” the man said. Din glanced out again, but nothing had changed.

“What assurance do you offer?” Karga replied. He sounded like a man who believed he would always have something to bargain with, one who had never lost everything. Din would never be able to convince him that it was possible to have truly, absolutely nothing, or that in the face of this man, that was what they all had.

“If you’re asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire.”

“I say we hear him out,” Karga said, and Din ignored him, looking over at Cara.

“Well?” she asked. “It’s not like he can take out an entire army, no matter how impressed you are by him. Who the hell is that guy out there, anyways?”

“It’s Moff Gideon,” Din said, and Cara was immediately shaking her head, even as her eyes pleaded for him to say it wasn’t true.

“He was executed for war crimes.”

“It’s him. He knew my name.”

“So?” Karga interrupted, “what does that prove?”

“I haven’t heard it spoken since – since I was a child,” Din said, catching himself. He hadn’t heard it spoken since yesterday, and it had been so soft, so fragile. It didn’t belong in this Imperial’s voice. “The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore, after the Mandalorians found me and raised me in the Fighting Corps. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That’s how I know it’s him.”

“He says he needs us, which means he doesn’t have the child yet. If they’d captured the kid, we’d already be dead,” Cara said, like maybe she knew Din needed to hear it out loud to believe it: the child was fine.

Time passed. Gideon seemed ready to stand in the courtyard watching them for as long as it took, and while the Stormtroopers seemed to be growing impatient, Din saw no flicker of such emotion on Gideon’s face. Gideon would wait them out.

And then, Din heard it. It was almost too noisy to catch, but he spun towards the window, searching for confirmation, and – there he was. The sound of spurs made the Stormtroopers freeze, then part as he strode through them. This wasn’t the plan, something must have gone terribly wrong, but at least – at least not so wrong that he hadn’t made it to Din. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” Boba stood before Gideon, and his armor was dark against the sea of white, the green its own announcement among the identical ranks behind him.

“I thought you killed him,” Karga hissed, and Din didn’t bother responding.

“Boba Fett,” Gideon greeted Boba coolly. “Have you come to offer your services? I’m afraid you know that my confidence in you is not at an all-time high.”

“You can’t get him without me,” Boba said, and Din peered around the wall to watch. He was expecting it to feel like before, and while his heart still skipped a beat at the scene out of a legend before him, part of him couldn’t dive in fully – he was too aware that Boba’s small shrug meant he was nervous, that he was only being casual because he was bluffing. “Haven’t you heard that you need a Mandalorian to catch a Mandalorian? You can’t do it without me.”

“I can’t believe this,” Karga muttered, “he’s going to try and kill you _again?_ Why didn’t you just kill him the first time, Mando?”

“I could never take him,” Din said distantly, still watching; he heard Cara snort.

“He’s not even a Mandalorian,” she pointed out, and Din shook his head.

“He is, by blood.”

“I’m sure you aren’t more effective than an entire army of Stormtroopers.” Gideon sounded nearly scornful, but only nearly; Boba still had some sway with him, despite his earlier failure. Maybe even that couldn’t undo the legacy that came before it.

“Unless you want him alive,” Boba said, “and from what I’ve seen of the kid, it’ll be a lot more cooperative if you bring in the Mandalorian alive with it. If not,” he shrugged, head tilting just slightly, “well, you know as well as I do what its kind is capable of.”

“I see.” Gideon clasped his hands behind his back, studying Boba. “Come with me.” He led Boba into one of the buildings off the courtyard; the Stormtroopers mingling around the courtyard began drifting into small groups, doubtlessly talking about the surprise turn of events, given how many kept looking over at the building.

“You don’t think you have _slightly_ too much faith in him?” Cara asked, with an almost insulting amount of gentleness. Din scowled; hopefully, she could somehow tell he was doing it. “Okay, okay. He’s a legend, I get it.”

“We need to find our way out,” Din turned from the window, scanning the room for the sewer access he knew had to be somewhere. Nearly every building could be accessed from the sewer line, and Din had been hoping the covert was still underground, that there might be someone who could help them. This was the foundation of his plan, the two things he believed in the most: the Mandalorians, and Boba.

The sewer grate was easy enough to locate, but its welds posed the real challenge. Din didn’t have any more explosives, and blaster shots proved ineffectual. As Din knelt down to examine it closer, he saw Cara turning away, approaching the window again.

“Why is that one running?” Cara’s voice was suspicious, but when Din looked over his shoulder, he couldn’t see what she was staring at.

“What?”

“What’re they all doing?” Karga ducked down to approach the window, peering out around the wall. “I don’t like this.” Din stood to get a better look; a Stormtrooper had come sprinting in through the gate, shouting, and others were being drawn to what he was saying. He kept pointing towards the gate. Two troopers ran for the building Gideon had entered.

“I don’t –” Cara started, but then Gideon was exiting the building he’d disappeared into, pointing towards their hiding spot.

“Open fire!” he commanded, and then seemingly everything exploded into blasterfire. None of the troopers had reached the E-Web yet, and Din saw only the slightest opening.

“Cover me!” he yelled in Cara’s direction, and ran for the entrance. He ducked several shots and elbowed through two troopers before he reached the cannon; it swung around at his pull, and he shot along the ranks of troopers. They just had to make it a little while longer, and they could do that – this was just like before, when it was him and IG-11 and they made it just long enough.

Din only saw Gideon for a moment, before Gideon shot him.

Pain bloomed everywhere at once, and he had just a few seconds to register the absolute, searing _pain_ before an explosion made everything much more distant. He was on the ground, he was bleeding, he was nothing but pain and blood and heat.

“Hey, hey,” he heard, Cara’s voice, and she was dragging him upright, back towards the common house, “you’re fine! Stay with me, you’re fine!”

“What happened to him?!” Din heard someone yelling, and he – he knew that voice. That one, he knew. Everything was swimming and hazy, but Din knew that voice.

Inside the house, the grate had been opened, and IG-11 stood beside it, holding the child. “Kid’s okay,” Din managed, just the few words making everything in his body scream in protest. IG-11 had the child – Din didn’t like that, Kuiil was supposed to have the child – where was Kuiil? Why _did_ IG-11 have it?

Cara lowered Din to the floor when his knees buckled, but then it wasn’t her holding on to him anymore, and for a second, Din thought he might be dreaming, because there was _Boba Fett,_ straight out of a legend and – and Din wasn’t dreaming, Boba was here and frantically checking Din’s injuries, and Din had been waiting for him. Of course Boba was here. Boba was his. Din couldn’t make sense of any of the noise surrounding him, but Boba kneeling in front of him made it all quiet, anyways.

“You’ll be fine,” Cara was saying, from somewhere over Boba’s shoulder. “We should – let’s go, we should just get moving, and you’ll be okay.”

“No,” Boba whispered, his hand at the back of Din’s neck, and there was so much _pain_. “Din, Din –”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” Din said, and suddenly, he knew it was true. Everything had a dark edge to it, and everything _hurt._ This was it, this was what had been waiting for him every time he said he wouldn’t die _here;_ this was it, the real moment.

“Shut up,” Cara insisted, “just – we’ve gotta take your helmet off, okay, and see –”

“ _No,”_ Din pushed away Cara’s hand when it appeared in front of his face. “Just – make sure the kid’s safe.” He moved his hand to Boba’s wrist, squeezed gently, trying to force himself to manage full sentences. “You guys need more help. Take the kid to the covert, they’ll help you.”

“They won’t,” Boba whispered, “not if it’s me, we need _you,_ Din –”

“Here,” Din reached beneath his armor, pulled off his mythosaur necklace, because maybe Boba didn’t have his anymore, but he could have Din’s. “Give them that. They’ll know it’s mine, because, you’re mine.”

Everything _hurt._ Din didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to _leave them –_ how could he die now? Now, now that he’d _found_ them? He’d gotten through everything, how could things go more wrong than they already had? He’d – there’d been a dream, and with sudden clarity, he could remember his mother telling him, _promising_ him, that if he made it through everything that was going to go wrong in his life, in all their lives, he’d make it to where they were waiting for him, to the child and to Boba. He’d thought he’d survive the wrong turns, not just die knowing he’d found Boba and the child at last. 

“We can make it,” Cara was insisting, her voice frantic from somewhere overhead. Din tried to force himself to stay awake, stop slipping backwards into darkness, because what if this was the last of everything he had with them? 

“I’m not gonna make it, and you know it,” Din said, and then the room exploded into fire. Everything was ablaze and loud and the child was _there,_ in the flames and heat and chaos _._ If Din died for anything, it would be for the child.

“I can hold them back long enough for you to escape,” Din told Boba, “take the kid. Don’t let me die not knowing you’re both okay.”

Boba kept shaking his head no; he looked misplaced, a legendary figure dropped into Din’s strange, ending life, but it was where he _should_ be, it seemed like where he’d been maybe the happiest. Din had pictured him so many times, suddenly had so many more details than anyone else in the galaxy. He wondered how many people would know this part of the legend, what they’d understand Din was to him.

“We’re not _leaving you,”_ Cara yelled, louder every time Din didn’t listen to her, increasingly frantic.

“This is the way,” Din said, and Boba’s grip on him tightened. He’d never touched Din’s bare skin, and Din felt like he’d known yesterday, that Boba never would.

“It’s not _my_ way,” Boba said, voice somewhere between a snarl and a plea. He was insistent, furious, and he was _hurting,_ how had no one else ever noticed that about him? How was it fair that Din was the only one, and about to leave him?

An Incinerator Stormtrooper loomed in the doorway, flamethrower held aloft so he could keep going, keep spreading fire, and suddenly – another explosion, a rush of heat and blooming flames, and he was gone. Din heard the child’s tiny moan, tried to push himself up, _go_ to it, but couldn’t get himself to move.

“We have to move!” Karga was yelling, already in the sewer, and Din saw the uncertainty on Cara’s face shift into resignation.

“Go,” Din managed, and Cara looked from him to Boba.

“Take the kid,” Boba said. Cara was already grabbing the child off the ground, holding it tightly in her arms. Its eyes were closed, but if Din couldn’t be holding it and making sure it was okay, at least it was Cara, she would protect it. She was so _good,_ and how could Din have done this, brought her here where she could die? He didn’t want _any of them_ to die.

“Promise me you’ll bring him,” she said, and her voice wavered, “I _know_ you need him, so promise me.” She ran for the grate with the child, and then it was just them, just them in the blazing house where Din knew he was going to die.

“Din,” Boba said, released Din long enough to unlatch his own helmet, toss it aside; he looked absolutely terrified, and Din didn’t know what could scare Boba so much that he’d look on the verge of panicked sobs. “You can’t just die because you’re not allowed to take off the helmet, okay? You can’t.”

“It’s forbidden,” Din rasped out, “no living thing has seen me without it since I swore the creed. It _matters.”_

“Why? So no one knows you? I already know everything,” Boba said, voice shaking, “what does it matter if I see your face? It’s just me. I already know. _Din,_ I already know.”

“I can’t,” Din said, but he couldn’t remember the reason why, because it was Boba, after all. Boba was right, he already knew everything. He knew how Din’s voice sounded in the dark when he was afraid, how Din’s hand felt in his, where to find him no matter where he went. He knew Din’s name, and more than that, he was the man who said it like it was a lifeline, like every time he found Din was a miracle, more than he thought he deserved.

“You can’t just die. You can’t just – just stop me from dying and then go and die yourself!”

“You didn’t even want me to help you,” Din said, pointlessly, “you said you didn’t need –”

“I was wrong!” Boba’s words hitched, and there was so much fear in his eyes, “I thought I didn’t need to keep living, but then you came for me, and you can’t make me do this alone.” He rubbed at his face with one hand, glancing over his shoulder at the encroaching flames, the troopers still outside. “Din, please. _Din._ ”

Din hadn’t known that was what Boba had been trying to tell him, on Mustafar. He hadn’t been refusing help because he didn’t need it. He’d been telling Din that Din’s insistence he live was pointless, that if he couldn’t be the legend he was before, he didn’t want to be anything else. Din hadn’t listened. If he’d known, he probably wouldn’t have listened anyways, because there was something in him that _needed_ Boba to survive and now – here was Boba, needing him to live. 

“I’m not letting them take you from me,” Boba’s voice was pleading, and Din thought he meant the Imperials until Boba added, nearly inaudibly, “Not even if it is their Creed.”

“Fine,” Din said, because it was Boba, and if there was anyone Din would break the Creed for, it was him. Boba would have recognized him without ever seeing his face. He already knew Din, he knew everything, and Din couldn’t leave him.

Boba’s fingers fumbled over the clasp and then he lifted Din’s helmet off, and Din had to look only at him, because he was the only comforting thing in a house that was on fire, in the midst of breaking the creed that had guided him. Boba scrambled for the bacta spray, touching Din’s hair with his fingertips to find the source of all the blood, his breathing shaky.

“So was Cara right?” Din wheezed, because Boba looked like he might break down completely and Din needed to reach for him in some way and this was all he had, when moving threatened to send him into a dark abyss he might not climb back out of. “Good-looking enough to justify everything?” The end of a legend, she’d implied, as though it wouldn’t go on forever, Boba a legend in Din’s life.

“Din,” Boba’s voice broke in the middle; he stared at Din like he couldn’t stop, not like the sight of Din’s face was new but like it was so very familiar to him, and this was the last time he’d ever see it. He sprayed the worst of the wounds with the bacta spray, and then he touched Din’s cheek, so gently Din thought he might feel the ghost of it forever. “I’m not letting you die, okay? You’re not leaving me and our kid, we’d never make it without you. I don’t _want_ to.”

“ _Werlaara,”_ Din murmured; the darkness around the edges of his vision was beginning to retreat just slightly, and he _had_ to live through this, if only because Boba looked as though he might start sobbing, and Din wasn’t going to leave him to do that alone.

Boba would burn down the entire galaxy if he lost Din, a legend of heartbreak and hurt, and the child would only know a world where Boba was an entirely different kind of hurt than he used to be, broken in the places he’d kept hidden away but shown to Din, nothing left untouched anymore. Even while struggling to swim upward through agony, while the house burned around them and a Stormtrooper army watched with guns drawn, Din knew why he couldn’t die, why he couldn’t let even his Creed keep him from surviving, why so many things had to go wrong so that he could end up here, one thing clear no matter how muddled everything else became.

He and Boba had a child to protect. 


	19. Chapter 19

The sewers were quiet. Din could barely register anything beyond the howling pain in his head, but the quietness managed to seep in past it, settling over him like a heavy blanket. Boba supported most of Din’s weight as they traveled as quickly as they could through the maze of corridors to catch up to the others. He held Din almost too tightly, but Din leaned into it and didn’t complain; as the pain drew back just enough to let him think clearly, he could see his original plan for what it had been, what it must have done to Boba. For a moment, Din had been him: dying on an unforgiving planet and insisting his story be allowed to end there, that he be allowed to die unchanged rather than continue as a new version of himself. Boba was still clinging to him as if in desperate protest, though Din was already saved.

“I knew it!” Cara’s voice floated over from somewhere down the hallway. “You’re not just dying on us, moron.” The child was asleep in her arms, exhausted, and all Din wanted to do was stop for a while, hold the kid and make sure it was really okay, to not be on the run, not be here and just be safe.

“Hey,” Din managed, lifting his head, “What – what about Kuiil? Was he – did you guys –”

“Is he okay?” Cara asked, but her voice wasn’t loud like when she’d been trying to convince Din not to give up; it was quiet, like she already knew the answer, knew she couldn’t change it, couldn’t fight it.

“Me and IG-11 found the Stormtroopers that took the kid from him,” Boba said, and from his voice, Din already knew what had happened. “We were already here, and when we heard troopers had been dispatched to intercept him – we were too late. We were just barely too late. We have to keep going, okay?” Boba hoisted Din up a little more, and Din nodded, though it made his head ache sharply. Kuiil was dead, and Din wasn’t about to let it be for nothing, to give up when they’d gotten this far. Kuiil was dead and if Din had never gone to his farm and told him about the child, never told Kuiil that he lived in a world where the Empire still reared its head and threatened to drag in a child –

Din directed them through several turns, but right when they should have been in sight of the Armory doors, the others stopped. Din looked up, and it felt like the floor gave out from under him.

There was a pile of Mandalorian helmets.

Din couldn’t breathe, felt Boba’s grip on him tighten, though not enough to keep Din from pulling away so he could drop to one knee, pick up one of the helmets in his hands.

It was the aftermath of a burned village. It was an entire culture, an ended history, and it was nearly everything Din had.

“Did the Guild do this?” he asked, staggering to his feet so quickly Boba had to grab for him to steady him, Din rounding on Karga, “did you do this?!”

“No!” Karga took a step backward, hands up, “when you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended. The hunters just melted away. The fighting _ended_.”

“It was not his fault.” The familiar voice made Din turn, frantic to seek out something familiar. The Armorer stood in the doorway, a floating cart following her. “We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted.”

“Did any survive?”

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world.” Would they still consider themselves Mandalorians? Din couldn’t stop looking back at the pile of helmets. Would they allow themselves that, or would they think they’d lost more than just this underground home? Din had removed his helmet and was still allowing himself to remain a Mandalorian, would they afford themselves the same grace? When he looked away from the helmets, there was a moment where he wholly expected to see his burning village around him.

“Come with us,” Din tried, but he was expecting the shake of her head. She was his mother in the dream, pointing Din to the stars above their burning home and staying behind; she was what momentarily remained.

“No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.” She resumed picking up pieces of armor and adding them to her cart; Din didn’t know if it was his head injury or the sight before him, but he was unsteady on his feet, body threatening to give out completely. All the Mandalorians – this was the only home Din had known in years, and it was empty, burned down just like his first. Nothing was left. Din had left them, and come back to nothing. He followed her shakily as she strode into the armory, and he heard footsteps as Boba followed him; out in the hallway, Karga stood over the pile of helmets, and Din wondered if he felt responsible. A loss so big seemed to fall onto the shoulders of everyone who looked upon its aftermath.

“Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction,” the Armorer said, as she added pieces to the forge to melt. Cara stepped forward with the child, the child still motionless.

“This is the one,” Din said. He wanted to reach for it, but there was something comforting in seeing Cara holding it safely as Din stood so unsteadily, like a small piece of the way he felt when handing the child to Boba.

“This is the one you hunted, then saved?”

“Yes. The one that saved me.”

“From the mudhorn?”

“Yes.” Din tried to blink away the encroaching and receding darkness. He wanted to be back on the ship, everyone safe, none of this happening anymore. The Mandalorians were gone, Kuiil was dead, and Din wanted them to escape this. Beside him, Boba was shifting around uneasily, like everything about the covert spoke to him, reminding him the Mandalorians hadn’t wanted him there. Din wanted to be someplace that felt like home to him, too.

“It looks helpless,” the Armorer leaned in closer to see the child. It didn’t wake, and Din longed to see even a tiny twitch of its ear, something to remind him that it was okay, really okay.

“It’s injured, but it’s not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

“I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell us of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi that fought with such powers.” She tilted her head, studying them. “I’m sure your companion knows our history, considering his father’s involvement.”

Boba said nothing, and it wasn’t a history Din knew, despite how much time he’d spent trying to find it all, absorb as much as he could. Boba hadn’t needed to do that; it was his bloodline, had traveled a path of veins to change him in ways it couldn’t reach Din. Boba was born of this.

“Its kind were enemies,” the Armorer continued, “but this individual is not.”

“What is it?”

“A foundling,” she said, but that, Din already knew. He’d known it the moment he’d opened the cradle for the first time, recognized it as soon as he’d seen the child. “By Creed, it is in your care,” she said, and Din nearly flinched at the mention of the Creed. He’d just broken it, how could it still be his to follow? How could it give him anything as important as this, when he’d broken it – but how could it deny him anything, when the reason he’d broken it had been so inherent in its origins? Din had broken his Creed so he could stay with the ones who needed him, and the Mandalorians were, at their shared heart, a worship of belonging and family. “You must reunite it with its own kind.”

“Where?”

“This, you must determine.”

“You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?” Din asked, and the Armorer nodded as though his path were obvious to her.

“This is the way.”

“Hey,” Cara interjected, “these tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan.” Behind her, Karga was nodding in agreement from the doorway, already looking anxiously back up the corridor. IG-11 moved to join him in the hallway to stand guard, and Din knew they had to get going, but it felt like the last time he would be in the covert. Cara covered the child’s face with its blanket, tucking it closer against herself as she left for the hallway, her footsteps echoing.

“If you follow the descending tunnel,” The Armorer pointed towards the way they’d come, “it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats.” She turned back to Din, and the quiet sound of spurs that told him Boba was stepping backward, out of her focus. “You must go. A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father. This is the Way. You have earned your Signet.”

She reached forward, attached to his shoulderplate the signet of a mudhorn, and Din shivered at the sight of it. Once, it had felt like the symbol of his sin, of the day he’d given up the child that was meant to be his, and now, now it was theirs, was a reminder that Din had still been able to turn back, to find his way again.

“You are a clan of two,” she said, and it cleaved Din’s heart in half, ringing out with wrongness. He understood. Suddenly, completely, he understood. He lifted his head, drew in a breath; somehow, despite the unsteadiness that threatened to overtake him, there was something stable within himself, something grounded. The words for it had been missing before, but even unnamed, it was a foundation he’d stood on, been able to see the messages in the stars above it telling him what to do, even if he didn’t know why, didn’t know where he came from even as he saw what he was supposed to do about it. He _understood_. 

“Three,” Din corrected. “A clan of three.” Because Boba had been there for the child since the day they’d saved it, because he belonged with them. Din’s clan, Din’s entire world, wasn’t complete without him, because Din was in love with him.

It was a moment the world needed to stop for, and couldn’t. Din needed to beg that they all survive this, because he understood _why,_ but everything kept moving around them, unmoved because it had already been set in motion with this as its base, even if Din hadn’t possessed the words just yet. It was a revelation that didn’t change everything, because Din was already here, already living in it – he was still here, because he’d refused to die, because Din loved Boba too much to leave him, and as he turned to look at Boba, wasn’t seeing him any differently. He still made Din pause in awe for a heartbeat, but it wasn’t merely because he was a legend, hadn’t been just that in a while.

“Yeah?” Boba whispered, and maybe for him, this was the ground shifting beneath his feet, maybe this _was_ a revelation, and Din wished desperately for the time to make him see the entirety of their shared home.

“I have one more gift for your journey,” the Armorer said, snapping Din’s attention back, “Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

“When I was a boy.”

The Armorer turned to a shelf in the corner, and came back with a jetpack in her hands. “This will make you complete,” she said, and Din didn’t have to turn around to know Boba was shaking his head just slightly, seeing the jetpack in a desert setting the others in the room couldn’t see. “When you have healed, you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands. The history we choose to join becomes our own,” she added, lifting her head to look at Boba over Din’s shoulder, “and I understand that jetpacks have not been an asset to your clan in the past. I trust this will be more successful.”

“Can’t go worse,” Boba said, as the Armorer beckoned IG-11 over to carry the jetpack, but it was the return of his cavalier tone that told Din he was feeling anxious, overly seen, shy at the inclusion and unsure if he deserve it.

Explosions in the hallway were met with blaster fire, and IG-11 was the first to rejoin Cara, though the ensuing silence said she didn’t need help just yet.

“More will come,” the Armorer reminded Din, “you must go. My place is here,” she added, seeing him about to interject, “be safe on your journey.” She was his mother again, disappearing along with his home, reminding him that he belonged somewhere else, that in a breaking world he had a duty to survive.

There was no time to pause. Din could only lead the others towards the lava river, still fighting the unsteadiness that threatened to overtake him and the pounding pain coming from his head injury; the sounds of fighting could be heard even as they got farther away from the armory. Din wanted to stop, to be somewhere else, to touch Boba and talk to him softly until the fact that he was the third of Din’s clan didn’t feel like a revelation. There wasn’t time.

They found the lava river, and even the stuck ferry boat didn’t give them pause for long. Din started to feel swept up in the momentum that pulled them towards the end – the cooled lava locking the boat to the shore was broken easily when Cara shot it, the droid in the boat whirred to life obediently and responded to their directions, moving the boat towards the mouth of the tunnel. They were escaping, it was ending, and lava made Nevarro feel suddenly like Mustafar, but that was okay, that was the planet where Din had saved Boba and they had escaped, alive and together for the first time. Din looked to Boba beside him, and when Boba looked back at him, Din’s heart suddenly sank. Even with the helmet, he knew acutely what the look meant.

“Where?” he asked. The momentum suddenly felt sinister, rushing them towards a demise they were running out of time to strategize against.

“Flanking the mouth of the tunnel,” Boba said, “entire platoon, looks like.” Din looked where he nodded, and his visor filled him in on the details: Stormtroopers, on either side of the tunnel mouth, waiting for them.

They couldn’t stop; the lava kept swiftly pulling them forwards, towards the waiting Stormtroopers. “Stop the boat!” Cara yelled at the droid, which didn’t respond. “Stop! I’m talking to _you!”_

“It will not be able –” IG-11 began to explain, but Cara was already pulling out her blaster and shooting at the droid. Her first shot ricocheted off its frame and the second sent its head flying into the lava.

“You’re holding a _baby!”_ Boba huffed in her direction, when the first shot bounced back towards the boat. The boat continued its march forward, towards the Troopers, and Din looked around wildly for anything that could stop them.

“Looks like we fight,” Cara said, and Din shook his head.

“Too many.”

“Well, we can’t surrender.”

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child,” IG-11 added. The mouth of the tunnel kept growing larger. Din’s heart wouldn’t stop racing, and his head was swimming. They couldn’t fight. He could barely stand, they couldn’t _fight._ “I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape,” IG-11 said.

“You don’t have that kind of firepower, you wouldn’t even get to daylight,” Boba told it. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That is not my objective.”

They kept arguing back and forth – IG-11 saying it had security protocols from its manufacturer, insisting it would self-destruct to protect them, that its base command to protect the child meant this was the only option, that there was no scenario where the child could be saved and IG-11 survive.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Din interrupted, “okay? We need you. We just need a plan. You’d be destroyed.”

“And you will live, and I will have served my purpose,” IG-11 kept insisting, but there had to be something else. There had to be a way out. That – that was their history, like the Armorer had said. Their clan became everything that had come before it, became Din’s unlikely survival and Boba’s impossible escapes, and there had to be a way to pass that along to the child. They were a clan, one born of luck and legend, and they _had to_ escape.

“There has to be a way,” Din told IG-11, but it was touching the child’s head very gently, as if in goodbye. “We need you. We’ll find a way.”

“There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive,” IG-11 said.

“I’m not sad.” Din was wrecked, was lost, was in so much pain and so _sure_ there was a way out where they all survived, that if he looked harder, he would find it. He couldn’t save Kuiil. He had to save everyone else. Their shared history was one of survival, everyone _had to survive._

“I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice,” IG-11 said, and then it stepped off the boat into the lava. Din stood motionless, watching IG-11 push through the lava until it reached the mouth of the tunnel. Time seemed to move very quickly and then freeze, as IG-11’s self-destruct cast a radiant light back at them, an explosion of brightness that seemed to suspend the whole world for just long enough that it could have been an ending, could have been a beginning, paused for so long that they could almost forget everything on either side.

Din wouldn’t lose anyone else. He hated that he had to bargain, that he had to accept Kuiil’s death, IG-11’s self-destruction, the loss of unknown Mandalorians who hadn’t made it off the planet in his wake. Din _wouldn’t lose anyone else._

Fallen Stormtroopers lay on either side of the tunnel’s entrance, and as the ferry boat emerged into the light, the roaring of an approaching TIE fighter bearing down on them. It opened fire, missed only because they were still protected by the tunnel, and as it swooped away to circle back, Din knew it would be back.

“It was Gideon!” Cara said, as Karga pushed a pole into the lava, guiding the boat towards the riverbank.

“He won’t miss next time,” Din said. The boat bumped against the shore, and when he climbed out, he felt even shakier on solid ground. He had to keep going, but he was running out of everything that kept him moving forward; his injury couldn’t be held at bay forever, eventually his body was going to win its fight to stop him from moving and dedicate his energy to healing, and there was so much pain that Din couldn’t remember a time before it.

“Our blasters are useless against him,” Cara climbed out of the boat, and Boba stepped closer to check on the child in her arms, though it still slept. “There’s nowhere to hide here, and they’ll send more troops, I’m positive.” Din knew she was right. The platoon IG-11 had wiped out was only the start; in the distance, he could hear a ship. If they took out Gideon in time that would possibly hold off the ship, maybe the Stormtroopers wouldn’t dive into a battle their dead leader had pointed them towards. They had to get to Gideon.

“We have to,” Din said, and Boba shook his head, understanding.

“You’re barely standing, and you aren’t trained,” Boba said, “I’ll do it.”

Din hadn’t been there the last time Boba picked up a jetpack, but watching him do it again, Din’s dread was visceral and deep, as if he’d stood at the edge of the Sarlacc pit and watched Boba fall.

“Is this a good idea?” Cara asked, as Boba slung it over his shoulder.

“Didn’t manage to kill me last time,” he said, but he paused, stepped close to Din to bump his helmet to Din’s. And then, then he was firing up the jetpack and in the sky, expertly propelling himself towards the TIE fighter as it completed its loop.

“They’re here!” Cara’s shout made Din tear his gaze away from the TIE fighter, and he looked in the direction she pointed in. Stormtroopers were flooding out of a ship almost before it had landed, and though Cara was already shooting, they weren’t slowing. Overhead, the TIE fighter was banking and swerving, and the troopers were swarming out around them, suddenly all Din could see. He pulled out his blaster and began firing, though each shot that pinged off his Beskar made him stumble, the shocks of impact rattling through the pain. He kept shooting, but troopers were everywhere, the lava river at their backs preventing escape and there had to be a way out but Din was too busy shooting, too busy fighting to keep the pain at bay, to see it. A flamethrower-toting trooper caught his eye, and he whipped around, shooting purposefully at it, the memory of flames too present in his mind to ignore it.

_“Hey!”_ Cara screamed, and there were troopers separating them, Din couldn’t _see her –_ overhead, there was an explosion, and the TIE fighter swooped dangerously close to the ground before careening upward again, and Din saw something falling, heard the roar of a jetpack again – he kept shooting, but the Stormtroopers were receding, and Cara was screaming Karga’s name in _rage_ –

The TIE fighter landed nearby for just a moment, and then it was gone again, launching into the sky, and the Stormtroopers were abandoning their stand, rushing back onto the ship even as Din and Cara shot after them.

“Hey!” Karga kept yelling after them, “what about – hey!” It was an exodus, like an ocean that had closed over their heads suddenly receding, and Din flailed for understanding, unable to breathe when he’d so recently been drowning. The child wasn’t in Cara’s arms.

“Where’s the kid?” Din asked, and Cara was running at Karga, grabbing him and throwing him to the ground, blaster pointed at him.

“He gave it to them!” she was still screaming in fury and the transport ship was lifting into the sky, the TIE fighter was a distant speck in the sky, and Din looked around frantically until he saw a distant figure across the plains, staggering to stand.

“The – the kid?” Din kept looking for the child, frantic, lost. “No. What? No!”

The second betrayal, the moment when Din would forget Karga wasn’t on their side, and Karga had ripped the child from Cara’s arms and tried to trade it for his own safety, and Din wanted to sink to his knees. The sky was empty, the planet was silent.

“Gideon has the child,” Din said, but he could barely hear his own voice through the pain thudding in his head. The child was gone. Their combined legend hadn’t been enough to save it, and Din’s arms were empty, the child gone, gone, gone. Din forced himself to look up, focused on the shape of Boba across the lava fields, still standing, still with him. The child was gone. Boba was still alive, but the child was gone –

“I should shoot you right now,” Cara was snarling, blaster still pointed at Karga, “before you have a chance to fuck us again. What now?” she asked Din, without taking her eyes from Karga. “Please tell me I can kill him.”

“No,” Din squeezed his eyes shut, tried to take a breath. “No. Not yet.” The child’s blanket lay in a heap on the ground. He could see his own Mythosaur pendant peeking out of the fabric, and the thought that the child had nothing of theirs threatened to send Din to his knees. “Just – wait. Wait.”

They waited, as if frozen. Karga lay on his back, hands raised in surrender, and Cara stood over him, her blaster never wavering. “I had to do it,” Karga kept saying, “I had to. They were going to get it either way! They would have come back to kill me for knowing too much! They were going to end up with it either way!”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” Cara spat. Karga kept going, Cara kept telling him to shut up, and Din could do nothing but watch Boba make his way towards them, damaged jetpack slung over his shoulder.

“They have the kid,” Boba said as he approached them, and his voice was hard, sharp-edged, “don’t they.” It didn’t sound like a question. He stood over Karga. “It was you, wasn’t it.”

“Look, don’t kill me,” Karga said, “I have information you don’t have! I can give you the client’s record, all the communication records, surely there’s something useful there –”

“If you say one more word,” Boba said, voice low and flat, “I will kill you. You have nothing I can’t get myself.”

Finally, Karga went silent. Cara looked away from him to glance up at Boba. “He took the kid from me,” she said quietly, “I wasn’t looking at him, I should have –” She fell silent; Din saw the guilt that crossed her face before she hid it from her features, though she couldn’t chase the tortured look from her eyes.

For a moment, there was nothing but stillness. The sky above them was empty, no matter how many times Din scanned it for a sign of the TIE fighter that held the child. 

“You,” Boba punctuated this with a kick to Karga’s shoulder, “will give us every record you have on the Imperial you dealt with. You will then locate a ship that isn’t registered to the New Republic.”

“Why would I –” Karga was interrupted by another kick, and stopped.

“Give the records and the ship to Cara. Get up. Start walking.” Boba watched as Karga scrambled to his feet, and, Cara’s blaster still pointed at him, began walking towards the town. He looked over his shoulder more than once, but Boba never moved.

“What’s the ship for?” Cara asked, blaster still raised as she watched Karga leave.

“You. We’ll come with you back to the town and take speeders out to the Razor Crest. You go with Karga and get what we need, then come meet us. From there, we’ll figure out what’s next.” He looked over at Din for confirmation, and Din nodded. This was all they could do, press forward, refuse to stop long enough for the grim reality to sink in further.

Boba caught up with Karga, blaster drawn, and Cara stayed by Din’s side, walking in silence for a long time. When she eventually spoke, it was uncharacteristically quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t see it coming at all. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. You risked your life to even get this far.”

“Still.” She lapsed into silence for a few moments. “So, the ship thing… Is he having me taken prisoner by someone?”

“No, why would he –”

“I got your kid taken,” Cara said, and it sounded like the guilt was strong enough to sweep her away, pull her entirely under. “First I didn’t stop them from shooting you in the head, and now this?”

“The ship’s for you,” Din said, because he didn’t have the words for his surprise; before, Cara would probably have assumed Boba was turning her in for a bounty, and Din hadn’t expected her to pinpoint more accurate motivators. “So you can leave, if you want. You said you couldn’t book yourself onto any New Republic ship, so this will make it easier for you. We got Kuiil killed,” Din said, heart wrenching at the words, “I can’t let you die, too.” He couldn’t lose Cara; sharp, rough Cara, with her ability to see straight to Din’s core, the way she could amuse herself even when things were dire. He couldn’t lose Kuiil, either, but it had already happened, an impossibility. He couldn’t lose Cara.

“Oh,” Cara said, and then, “well. I’m keeping the ship, but I’m going to help you guys get the kid back. For Kuiil, too,” she added, voice softening, “he said that we’re defined by who we choose to help, you know, and I can’t believe that I’m helping Boba Fett, of all people, but, well. Kuiil said Fett’s been redefined by who he chose to help, too.” She elbowed Din, smiled suddenly. “Clan of three, huh?”

“Yes,” Din felt himself reddening, though she couldn’t see his face. “It’s just – that’s. It’s what we are.”

“Oh, I can see that.” She raised her eyebrows, smile widening. “Might want to explain that to murder machine, hmm? Thought he was going to drop dead of shock.”

“He knows,” Din said, because though it was true, finding the words for it, explaining _why –_ what if – was he shocked because he didn’t – was it different, for him? Din had his own reasons, but did Boba have different ones? In the midst of a terrifying tragedy, Din felt like he was stumbling into an entirely different mess, one he didn’t have the time for but couldn’t pull himself away from. “It might not be for the same reason as me,” Din mumbled. “I mean, he’s – you know.”

“Yeah, I know who he is.” Cara elbowed Din again. “He’s yours, stupid. Talk to him.”

“Soon,” Din sighed, but as he watched Boba ahead of them, walking behind Karga with a blaster pointed at him, he felt like a legend again, and why would he need to join Din’s clan when he had his own legacy? He could care for the child, and for Din, without needing to _belong_ to him. If they never got the child back, if it had been ripped from their arms never to return no matter how hard they fought – would Din lose Boba, too? Already, half of his heart had been torn from his chest when the child was stolen; how could he survive losing the other half as well? Maybe they were a clan of three, never meant to be a clan of two.

Boba had touched Din’s face so gently, though, so incredibly gently, and Din reminded himself of that over and over as they walked back to the town, silence encasing them like the remnants of an omen they’d ignored.


	20. Chapter 20

“You go ahead.”

It was the first time Boba had spoken since they’d left the town on speeders. The Razor Crest cast long shadows over them, and Din leaned against his own speeder, the ground unsteady beneath his feet. Kuiil’s body on the ground was the only thing Din could see, an entire planet shrunken to the space where his body lay. Din’s knees felt weak, and the howling pain in his head was dwarfed by the aching sorrow, the knowledge that this – this was because of Din.

“No, I should –” Din began, and Boba stopped his half-step forward with a hand on his elbow.

“Let me.” He reached up and removed his helmet, held it out to Din to take. Din cradled it in his arms as though it were the child, swallowed hard. “I’m the one that got to him too late,” Boba said quietly, and Din didn’t stop him. He couldn’t make himself move, though, just watched as Boba dug the grave. _Yesterday,_ Kuiil had been alive. He must have known this could be how it ended, but he’d wanted to help them anyways. This was the definition he’d chosen, to be the one who helped a child torn from its home and relentlessly pursued by the Empire.

When Boba began covering the filled grave with rocks, Din joined him, moving rocks into a small pile and then standing beside him, motionless.

“I’d say something, but he can’t hear us anyways,” Boba muttered, gaze fixed on the ground. Dirt was smudged on his cheekbone, and his eyes were hard; Din could see guilt and regret anyways. “You sacrificed your life for us the way a father would,” Boba finally said, and Din remembered the way his own father had done the same – it was exactly what Kuiil had done for them, thrown himself in front of a child as the last defense, so someone could hopefully do what he wouldn’t be there to do anymore. It was a death born of protection and hope, a death that did not want to be avenged, wanted only for the child to be saved.

“We’ll get the kid back,” Din said, unsure whether he was talking to Boba or Kuiil; both needed to hear him promise.

Boba led him to the Crest, where they could wait for Cara to return with Karga’s information and a ship, hopefully the makings of a plan. Din began removing his armor, and Boba stripped his off quickly but then lingered, watching Din with misery on his face. There was a desperate hardness about him that Din hadn’t seen before, but this was the first time Boba had really lost anything since Din had found him; it was new, but not unfamiliar, because Din had known that this would be how Boba carried loss on his shoulders. With anger, with hurt, with a stubborn refusal that would eventually bloom into furious acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when Din paused to look at him again. “I know what the Creed means to you. I’m sorry I made you break it.”

“You were right,” Din said. It was easier now, in the quiet and stillness, in the same place where he’d seen Boba’s face for the first time. Easier, now that he knew why Boba was special to him, why the Creed could never deny him this. “The reason we don’t show our faces, it’s so we’re judged by our deliberate decisions. It makes us nothing but our choices. You already know all of those. You know everything.” And Din _loved_ him, and their Creed, one built on family and belonging and loyalty, did not deny him that. “ _Werlaara,_ it’s okay,” he murmured, though the distressed look on Boba’s face didn’t lessen.

_I’m not letting them take you from me,_ Boba had said, although the Mandalorians were what had _given_ Din to Boba. Din didn’t know how to ask what he’d meant, how Boba could believe a betrayal could ever spring from his own blood. 

Boba drifted away as Din finished cleaning up, as though not entirely convinced he should see Din’s face. Din removed his helmet and reapplied the bacta spray, then went to where Boba waited on the Crest ramp, sank down to sit beside him. The sun had already set, and the lava fields were lit only by distant stars.

“We’ll get the kid back, right?” Boba asked, and when he turned to Din, the look was back, like Din’s face was so familiar to him and he wanted to rememorize every detail. Din hadn’t been seen in such a long time. The way Boba looked at him didn’t leave room for nervousness. It didn’t matter, that no one had seen his face since he was a child, that no one would recognize it, didn’t matter that there was gray in his beard and creases in his skin; somehow, Boba looked at him as though this were exactly how he’d expected Din to look, and he just wanted to make sure he never forgot it.

“Yes,” Din promised, because it was an unstoppable need within him, to try and give Boba what he needed, because he was the only one Boba would ask. Din _loved_ him, and it was terrifying, it was a reprieve in a storm, it was something he felt so deeply that he couldn’t remember ever being any other way. “It’s ours. We’ll get it back.” Maybe the sheer truth of it could make it possible, maybe the galaxy would understand that the child _belonged_ with them. It wasn’t a foundling anymore, it was _theirs._

“Clan of three,” Boba said, so impossibly quietly that it almost sounded like a question. His hand bumped against Din’s, and Din reached for it, squeezed gently. Yesterday, he’d thought he might never know how it felt to have Boba touch him. Yesterday, they hadn’t lost the child yet. It didn’t seem possible, that the galaxy could take one of the most important things in Din’s life and leave him the other. How could Din hold on to anything, when half of what he loved the most had already been taken from him? Maybe that was precisely how – because he’d already lost his child, he would fight forever not to lose Boba, too.

“Clan of three,” Din echoed; a tiny part of him was afraid that admitting the reason would lose Boba for him, because the world had already changed once today and he wanted to suspend it like this for a moment longer, because it wasn’t unbearable as long as Boba was still with him.

“Where’s, uh,” Cara’s voice woke Din only a few hours after he’d gone to sleep; the compartment was dark, the door closed, and he was still alone; Boba had told him to get some rest, and Din hadn’t been able to find the words to ask him to come, too. “Am I okay to use his name, now? I thought that wasn’t allowed, for you guys. But I know it, so.”

“I don’t know.” Boba’s voice was barbed, this the mirror to how he sounded cavalier while bluffing; he sounded sharp when he felt small. “I do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you. He _told_ it to you voluntarily.”

“I guess.” A pause. “Anyways, he’s sleeping.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why aren’t you there?” Cara sounded teasing; Din could perfectly picture Boba’s uneasy, irritated expression at her tone. “Karga gave me a ship,” Cara went on, thankfully before Boba could say anything in response.

“I can see that.”

“I guess, uh. Thanks for telling him to?” Cara’s voice lost its usual confidence. “And… I’m sorry. It’s my fault they got the kid.”

“You tried,” Boba said shortly.

“Yeah, well. For all the good that did us.” Some scuffling of footsteps, a pause. “Look, just. I’m really sorry I couldn’t protect your kid. I’m gonna stick with you guys and help get it back.”

“Surprised you don’t think it’s better off with them than with me,” Boba said, and Din’s heart ached sharply at the hardness in his words. He sat up, groped in the dark for his helmet so he could go join them.

“You’re not worse than the _literal Empire,”_ Cara said, “not these days.”

“Used to be, though.” The flippancy was sharp. Din wanted to touch him but felt like even standing beside Boba, he wouldn’t be able to reach; sometimes it felt like the Boba who needed comforting was the one from years before.

“What do you expect from me, exactly?” Cara’s voice rose abruptly. “You were a mercenary for the Empire, Fett! I can accept that you’ve changed because you found a kid that needs you, but it hasn’t been that long! Like, shit, I can have mixed feelings. You might have a family with one of my friends, but you also routinely killed and captured innocent people for pay. I can have some fucking mixed feelings when you’re a nice guy but also a murderer!”

“I _know!”_ Boba snarled, and Din didn’t remember when he’d stopped moving, but found himself holding his breath, waiting to hear what came next, fingers stilled on the latch of his helmet. “Me too, okay? I did it, and I’m not alright with it anymore. I don’t know how to make up for it, all I want to do is just find our kid and raise it, and be with _him_ –” his voice broke, and the ship went completely silent.

Din opened the door, found Cara and Boba facing off, Cara looking more startled than anything else, Boba clenching his fists and looking like he wanted to hit something.

“Hey,” Din ventured. The silence stretched.

“How did we wake you up?” Cara deadpanned, “we were so quiet.”

“Sorry,” Boba’s voice was a mumble; after seeing him without his helmet last night, the sight of it back on felt unfamiliar suddenly. Din was starting to expect to see his face every time he looked at Boba. “Cara’s back,” he said, unnecessarily. Cara rolled her eyes, but there was still a confused, pitying look on her face. It seemed that while her default expression towards Din was one of squinting curiosity, the way she looked at Boba was more like this, confused and something between sad and angry.

“Karga wasn’t particularly useful,” Cara informed Din, “although he did come through on the ship. You guys not have enough seat belts on this one for me to catch a ride anymore?”

“What did he say about the Client?” Din asked. When he stepped closer to them, Boba ducked around behind him, went to sit on the end of the bed, further from Din and Cara. Din still ached to touch him.

“Unsurprisingly, he exaggerated his usefulness there.”

“We have _nothing?”_ Din looked from Cara to Boba, who shrugged a shoulder.

“Don’t look so despairing,” Cara said, and she smirked as though she could see Din’s frown in her direction. “Isn’t tracking things down what you guys _do?”_

“There’s usually more to go on than ‘somewhere in space,’” Din said. “There’s the chain code, last known location, known associates, _something.”_

“Sure, but that’s not all we have, either, is it? We know it’s with the Empire somewhere, right?”

“Great,” Boba contributed sullenly from the corner, “that narrows it down, seeing as they’re all in hiding. Good start.”

“There was a lab involved,” Din said. He tried to remember every part of the safe house, the lab, every terrible place the child had been. “A doctor, or scientist. We found the kid at a compound on Arvala-7. Looked like a smuggler’s storage compound, but no one that well-known.”

“There’s a big operation behind this,” Boba contributed. “Lots of resources. Gideon was able to find the child in that compound.”

“So?” Cara said, and Din turned back to look at Boba, too; he’d crossed his arms over his chest, still sat on the ledge of the bed.

“A smuggler found a strange creature while raiding,” Boba said flatly. He waited. Cara stared. “That’s what they had to go on. You know how many credits it would take to scour space until they found that kid, in that smuggler’s compound? How many smugglers there are, how many planets? I guarantee this started as a rumor about the smuggler who found the kid.” Just like the rumor Din had heard, that someone had seen Boba alive; he had to suppress a shiver at the reminder. “Gideon had the resources to find it, with nothing to go on.”

“Why didn’t they just take it?” Din asked, “why use an intermediary?”

“He must not have had the manpower yet. There aren’t many Stormtroopers left, I was surprised there were so many here at all. He couldn’t go himself, either. Gideon doesn’t do his own work. That’s why he hired me to kill the Admiral, and to kill Shand when the Admiral tried to hire her. But he didn’t try and contact me when they were going to recapture the kid here, so he must have gained manpower in the meantime.”

“You _did_ fail the first time he hired you,” Cara pointed out. “Maybe he just didn’t think you could handle it.”

“He’d have had me killed, if I’d really stopped being useful,” Boba said flatly, “or tried, anyways.”

“So, fine. We know he has the resources,” Cara said. “We’re not looking for something small.”

“The lab,” Din said. “That’s their weakest link. The doctor wasn’t really an Imperial. They got him from somewhere, they either paid or threatened him enough to keep him, but he didn’t come from the Empire. He wanted to keep the kid safe. He said _they_ wanted to extract something from the kid, but he kept it alive.” 

“If he was being paid, he’d still be with them now,” Boba said. “If he was being threatened, he’d have used that day to escape. And if the Empire can threaten you into working for them, you don’t just run away, you run to someone who can protect you. You’d know they could find you anywhere you hid.”

“You’d go to the only guys who have ever taken the Empire down,” Cara said. “We’ll go to D’Qar. I know who to talk to.”

“Not much to go on,” Din said, but Boba was standing up, coming to drape an arm over Din’s shoulders.

“I’ve had less to go on and found what I was looking for,” he said, “our clan always finds what it’s looking for.” The words made Din ache to hold him. It wasn’t a new feeling, but one he newly had the words for. Boba left for the cockpit, and when Din turned away from watching him go, Cara was grinning at him.

“I see you told him you guys are a clan now.”

“He knew. He was there.”

“I think he needed to be told anyways. Seems like the type who could benefit from being reminded of that kinda thing.”

“Has Cara left yet?” Boba called down from the cockpit, “Get off the ship, Cara! Let’s go!”

“I could be seeing this entirely differently than him,” Din blurted out, unable to stop himself, “if I define it, it overwrites however he’s seeing it.”

“I get it,” Cara said, surprisingly gently. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.” She started towards the ramp, turning back to look at him as she walked backward, “I mean, you take your helmet off in front of him now, right? He’ll see how I’m _sure_ you look at him. Everything will sort itself out.”

“Speaking of breaking the Creed,” Din said, because he didn’t know how to possibly address what she’d been talking about, and whether to be terrified of how he was looking at Boba, what he could be giving away. “It’s okay that you know my name. You can use it. We’re friends.” He paused. “It’s Din.”

“I know that now.” Cara smiled again. “I’ll see you guys on D'qar.”

She left, and when Din returned to the cockpit, he almost stopped himself from removing his helmet. Surely, he wasn’t good at hiding his expressions, having had no need to try for decades. But – was the way he looked at Boba any different from how Din spoke to him? If he was going to give anything away, he’d have already done it; he took off his helmet, set it beside him.

“Not a bad ship she’s got,” Boba said, as he programmed in their course. Din sat in the seat at the back of the cockpit, watching Boba turn on the engines, go through the launch procedures. The child’s cradle still sat beside his chair, and Din touched the edge with two fingertips, wondered where the child was sleeping. “Wonder if she killed Karga.”

“Probably wanted to, but I don’t think she did.”

“I’m not bad for the kid, am I?” Boba didn’t turn around, but his shoulders had tensed.

“No.”

“I went to prison when I was twelve, hardly a good influence.”

“You lost your father,” Din said, swallowed hard. “Kid isn’t going to.”

“Things… got out of hand pretty early. I never learned how to turn it around.” He glanced back at Din, hesitated. “I want to be better, for you guys. I won’t go back.”

“I know.”

“You do?” Another backward glance, and though he wore his helmet, his voice carried his fragile questioning, that he wanted Din’s sureness, though Din wasn’t sure if Boba wanted to know because he needed Din to have faith in him, or would only believe in himself if someone else did first. Din knew; Boba wouldn’t go backwards, would have no reason to. He was already home.

“I do, _werlaara.”_


	21. Chapter 21

D'qar was, as far as Din could tell, nothing but dense jungle foliage. He’d followed Cara’s instructions and landed the Razor Crest in the clearest area they could find; there were a few trees that had been brought down by a storm, and the Crest perched over them, Cara’s smaller ship landing over a riverbed.

“Are we asking the Ewoks for a battalion?” Boba was muttering as he followed Din down the ramp to join Cara. She shook her head when she saw them. It was only just past daybreak, and the cool air made her rub her bare arms for warmth.

“You’re not gonna like this,” she started, “but. You,” she pointed at Boba, “really can’t go in there looking like that.”

Boba cocked his head, made a show of looking down at his armor and back up at Cara.

“You can’t make him take it off,” Boba said, nodding towards Din, “Won’t let you.” It was unclear if he meant himself or Din posed the threat, but Cara was shaking her head again.

“This isn’t an armor thing, this is a _you_ thing. They know you, from your less savory years. If you walk in, they’re going to shoot you.” She kept her face a mask of seriousness, but Din heard the note of amusement in her voice as she surely pictured that exact scenario, and cocked his head in reprimand. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t deny it.

“So… I just don’t go,” Boba shrugged, looked to Din for confirmation. “You guys can handle this.”

“No, if they figure out you’re involved later, and that we weren’t upfront about it,” Cara made a cycling motion with her hand, and Din wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to indicate one thing leading to another, or just the tangled mess the situation would become. “We’re not lying to these guys. Take it off.”

Boba heaved a sigh, tilted his head to look over at Din. Din shrugged, gave a small nod. Boba had done it to convince Cara to help them, understanding that she valued transparency, and it made sense that anyone she associated with would be similar. Boba sighed again, then tramped back into the ship.

A frog croaked nearby; Din found himself automatically looking around, ready to stop the child from diving towards it, but there was no child. Something in Din wilted a little more. There was no child.

“So they know Boba?” he asked Cara, to distract himself from the frog’s continual sounds. Cara nodded, running a hand through her hair. If Din didn’t think she’d scoff at the idea, he’d say she was nervous. But, and he couldn’t put his finger on why, he didn’t think it had to do with anyone recognizing Boba.

“They’ve seen him before,” she said, with a distracted hand wave, “you know, the typical bounty hunter and bounty relationship. Real healthy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can we get going?” Boba rejoined them; he’d removed his helmet, and even swapped the main chest plates of his armor for the more subdued gray spare set he’d found on the Crest. His former captives might not have been able to recognize him by his trademark green armor anymore, but Din couldn’t imagine looking at Boba and seeing him as anyone else, anyways. Something about the way he walked, the tilt of his head, the defiant jut to his chin, it spelled out everything there was to him, even without the armor.

“Lead the way,” Din told Cara, suddenly disappointed that he wasn’t able to smile in her direction. She just looked so anxious, he wanted to reassure her. “Personally, I’m hoping they’re Ewoks,” he said, the best he could do. It did make her laugh, at least.

“Sorry, no Ewoks. These guys don’t actually _live_ in the jungle.”

They followed Cara through the jungle in silence for at least twenty minutes; when she stopped, it was before a metal hatch in the ground that a less practiced eye would have completely missed. Din couldn’t help but be impressed. Cara uncovered a keypad beneath a layer of moss and entered a sequence of numbers. Din snuck a glance behind him; Boba was looking at the dense jungle around them, eyes narrowed like he was sure a threat lurked nearby, hair appearing lighter where the dappled sunlight touched it.

The hatch opened up to a ladder, a narrow tunnel and, quite suddenly, a more developed corridor with people walking through. Thick tree roots crawled through the walls, and Din kept glancing upward, expecting to see a tree and surprised by the ceiling each time. Cara seemed to know where to go; she led them past an entire hangar, and Din caught a glimpse of T-70 X-wings.

“Hey,” he murmured, and Boba nodded, lip curling slightly. He knew who they were among, too, then. It was still strange, seeing him in public without his helmet; he didn’t seem to carry the same unsureness that Din would in the same situation. Din would be anxious, feel like he was doing something wrong, would probably be avoiding eye contact and feeling overly seen. Boba looked at everyone like he was waiting to be recognized, and tensed for a confrontation.

Cara led them through a few hallways, and after only a couple wrong turns, came upon a closed door. She glanced back at them before tapping the keypad to slide the door open. Inside was a small meeting room that branched off towards a few screens and office nooks; the round projector table at the center made Din think of Bracca, of the entirely different way it had felt to enter a room beside Boba back then. People milled around near the screens further back, and Din didn’t recognize any of them.

“Cara!” a woman rushed over like she wanted to be running, and threw her arms around Cara. “This is the best place I could get for us, I’m afraid I don’t have much clearance here, but I’ll do anything I can. What’s going on? I’ve been trying to find you for ages.” Her hands fluttered over Cara’s arms, her shoulders; she was slighter than Cara, though she carried herself like she could fling herself into a fight with full confidence and come through solely on the force of her determination.

“I’ve been keeping a low profile,” Cara said, to an immediately defiant look from the woman. “Not from _you,”_ Cara said, “just. In general.”

“Well, I won’t be losing track of you again.” She kept a hand on Cara’s elbow as she leaned over to see Din and Boba. “Who’re your friends?” Her gaze lingered on Din, face clouding with suspicion. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a Mandalorian.”

“To be fair,” Cara said, “ _he_ wasn’t one.” Boba gave a small scoff under his breath. Din wanted badly to reach out to him.

“Well,” the woman strode towards Din, held out her hand; she had a very strong handshake, like she was trying to discern his fingerprints through the gloves. “I’m Leia Organa. Pleasure to meet you, hopefully.”

“We appreciate your help,” Din said, and she moved to Boba. The suspicion flickered back over her features. She was sharp; Din was sure that she was picking up on something familiar, even without the armor. The way he stood, maybe, the tilt of his head.

“Princess,” Boba said. Her eyes narrowed.

“You know me,” she said, and Cara came up behind her, touched Leia’s shoulder with her fingertips. The anxious expression returned, when she looked at Leia.

“We’ve met.” Boba said, and his voice sharpened slightly, “You’re not a fan of me.”

“Deservedly so,” Cara muttered. “Leia, this is –” she began, but Leia’s eyes were already widening in recognition; she probably knew his voice, and the barbed tone had made it finally sound familiar. Din hated that this was what she recognized, that she’d heard him like this before, prickling with unhappy anxiety masked by sharpness.

“Boba Fett,” she said, gaze never wavering from his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He gave no sign of confirmation. Though she was considerably shorter, she stared at him as though towering, unflinching. “I always wondered what you guys looked like.” Boba gave only the slightest reaction, but it was to recoil, a flinching anger reduced to the tiniest curl of his lip. Maybe it was being grouped in with all the other masked mercenaries in the galaxy, but the anger came off him in waves.

“We have the galaxy’s craziest favor to ask you,” Cara chimed in, and Leia studied Boba a moment longer before turning back to Cara.

“You could have told me who you’re helping out,” Leia said, but it was much gentler, more teasing than angry. “I would have dropped dead on the spot from surprise, though, so I can see why you waited. I appreciate you looking out for me like that.”

“Trust me, I can’t believe any of what’s happening. Can we fill you in?”

“Sure.” Leia sighed. She’d turned her back to Din and Boba, making it clear that Cara was their representative. Her hair had been pulled back into two looped braids, and Din watched their tiny swaying movements as she spoke to Cara, touching Cara’s shoulder and then her elbow. “Have you eaten? The cantina’s usually empty this time of day, they don’t serve cooked food until later, but there’s always something around. We can talk there. How aren’t you freezing?” Her hands fluttered to Cara’s wrists, then her hands, and Cara was turning pink.

“I’m fine, really,” Cara said, but Leia was already leading them out of the room, and removing her cloak, holding it out to Cara and leaving no room for argument. They talked quietly together, and Din slowed his steps as Boba stalked along beside him.

“So she knows you?” Din asked, softly.

“Yeah. She got the last laugh, though, I’m sure Solo told her all about bumping me off, literally and figuratively.” That should have been it, Din thought, that should have been what was getting to Boba. It wasn’t. There was a dismissiveness he hadn’t been expecting to hear, like the detail that Leia’s friend had all-but killed him was insignificant in the face of some other looming threat. Din saw no other titan of misfortune. “I just,” Boba drew in a breath through his teeth, jaw tight, “I just want to get our kid and never see any of these people again.”

“We will.” Could he promise that? Was it enough, that he wished for it, too? Din felt like that had to count for something, cosmically.

True to Leia’s word, the cantina was all-but empty. Din wanted to tell Boba to eat something, but knew he wouldn’t, and just led Boba to one of the many empty tables to wait for Cara and Leia. The Resistance members who wandered through the cantina all cast curious glances Din’s way, but Boba tensed each time anyways, as though they were looking at him.

Leia and Cara returned with food, and Din listened as Cara filled Leia in on the strange series of events that had led them to the Resistance base. It was abbreviated, coming from Cara, and the gaps felt glaring. She didn’t know that Din had sat beside Boba in front of the Sarlacc pit and held his hand, didn’t know that Boba had screamed Din’s name in the halls of the prison ship where he’d thought he’d lost Din. It didn’t make sense, without the pieces they held; he saw the confusion on Leia’s face, as she struggled to understand. Leia came across as well-read, and surely a Mandalorian rescuing a foundling was the least surprising part of this story; Din was the piece that would make sense, that fit into the cultural legacy he came from.

Cara relayed the important pieces of what happened on Nevarro like the details pained her, too; Gideon, the Stormtroopers, the child. A well of hurt cloaked in the spaces between the bullet points, and somehow, Leia had the whole story without really having any of it.

“There’s something else,” Boba added, and Leia looked at him like she was expecting him to reveal something underhanded and was exasperated at his expectedness. “The kid. It’s the same species as Yoda.”

“Is it also Force-sensitive?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Leia blew out a breath. “That explains the Empire’s interest in it.”

There was a long, long moment where she just looked at Boba. Din fought the urge to drum his fingers on the table and glanced around; a few more Resistance members had taken seats around the room, and some had left. Two people were coming into the cantina, and when the taller man saw Leia, he started heading in their direction. Din nudged Cara’s foot under the table and nodded towards the door. She looked over her shoulder, and winced.

“Look who it is!” the man approached their table, gave Cara a friendly slap on the shoulder. “We haven’t met, but I’ve sure heard about you. Cara, right?”

“That’s right,” Cara smiled, almost convincingly. “And you’ve gotta be Han.”

Beside her, Leia leaned around to look up at Han; there was something strained about her smile, too. So – this was Han Solo. The man who’d nearly succeeded in killing Boba. It was another time, practically another life and a place Din hadn’t been, but Din saw nothing else when he looked at Han. Han was the reason Boba had nearly died over the course of a thousand years – was the reason he’d been in the pit he crawled back out of and been desperate for a return to glory. The reason he’d nearly died on Mustafar. The reason Din had found him, and Din felt seasick from the series of implications, because it was almost like Han had changed the course of Boba’s life in a way he hadn’t meant to and it had saved him. One small action, and the galaxy’s most infamous bounty hunter had become something else entirely.

“The kid and I just got back,” Han waved a hand towards his companion, who had made a detour for food and was wandering over with a wrapped pastry in hand.

“If he’s a kid, what does that make me?” Leia said, and Han smirked. “Hi, Luke,” she added. He waved, mouth full. “Cara, this is my brother.” She added, and Cara copied Luke’s small wave. “We’ve got a bit of a strange situation going on, Han, so maybe you guys should –”

“Who’s this?” Han frowned in their direction, “Cara, I don’t know if you heard, but we’re not exactly huge fans of Mandalorians around here.”

“He wasn’t even a Mandalorian,” Cara pointed out, again. “And, uh, about him.”

“We shouldn’t,” Leia started. Boba leaned back in his chair, looked up at Han, eyes hard.

“Solo,” he said. Han gave him a squinting look, hand drifting to the blaster at his hip. Din sighed. “I’m here for an apology,” Boba drawled, “or maybe just to thank you for being too incompetent to kill me on Tattooine.”

“What the _fuck?”_ Han’s blaster was out immediately, and Leia was already jumping out of her seat, reaching to push his arm back down. “Are you serious?”

The other inhabitants of the cantina made some scuffling sounds when Han drew his blaster, but they seemed to be losing interest; Din wondered if they would do the same, if they understood who Han had encountered. 

“What?” Luke chimed in. He’d taken his sister’s vacated seat, and was blinking at the action in front of him, still chewing.

“This isn’t the time to be slow on the uptake, Luke,” Han said through gritted teeth; Leia still clutched his arm, and seated between them, Cara looked like she regretted coming. “Where’s the helmet?” Han jeered, “Afraid you’d get shot on sight? Or is it still in the Sarlacc pit?”

“Thought it might scare you away.”

“I kicked your ass while blind,” Han snapped, “bet I could do it with one hand tied behind my back, too. You won’t be getting back out of the hole I put you in this time.”

“What’s the matter, don’t like seeing your escaped bounty running around?” Boba smirked at him, “I know how you feel.”

“Would _someone,”_ Han gestured with the blaster around the table, only for Leia to grab for his arm again, “explain to me what this asshole is doing here?”

“It’s an extenuating circumstance,” Leia said tightly, “sit down, and we’ll tell you about it.”

“ _We?_ You on Team Fett, suddenly?” Han let her shove him into an empty chair, but his fingers remained clenched around his blaster. “I cannot wait to hear what _extenuating circumstance_ you’ve got going on,” he spit in Boba’s direction, then cast a suspicious look at Din. “What are you, Fett 2.0?”

“Just a bounty hunter,” Din said. Han raised his eyebrows, waved his free hand in a gesture that clearly said _elaborate._ Din did not.

“Cara needs our help getting a Force-sensitive child back from the Empire,” Leia told Han, standing behind Cara with her hands on her hips. “We’re going to go and see if we can get any leads on where they may have taken it.”

“Alright.” Han kept eying Boba across the table. He clearly had more questions, but Leia was already striding away across the cantina purposefully, leaving them no choice but to follow. Han, Din noticed, trailed behind so he could keep watch on Boba.

“Do we really need their help?” Boba muttered, as Leia led them down a hallway, past another hangar, up a half flight of stairs. “You shouldn’t have brought me. They don’t want to help.”

“They still will,” Din said softly, “and I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Leia brought them to a small, secluded office that overlooked the hangar. She pulled up a screen and began tapping, Cara leaned in beside her to watch. Han lurked in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and Luke sat in the empty desk chair, and though his face didn’t mirror Han’s hostility, he was still studying Boba with an almost more alarming intensity.

“Force-sensitive kid, huh?” Luke eventually said. “Like… it’s your kid?” he looked to Din. “Did they take it from you?”

“Not exactly. The Imperials found it, and we took it from them.”

“So you’re the real kidnappers, here,” Han drawled. Boba gave a small snarl.

“We weren’t going to let them _keep_ it.”

“Right, the plan is to kidnap it back, and, what, turn it in for a bounty?” Han asked. “I get the sense that’s why you found the kid in the first place. Couple of bounty hunters, a valuable kid, it’s not exactly a lot of dots to connect.” He wasn’t wrong, technically, but Din still bristled at the words. The kid – it was _theirs._ It had been someone else’s before it was theirs, but –

“And then what?” Luke chimed in. “Like… are you giving it back to its family?”

“We don’t know where it came from,” Din said, crossed his arms. Beside him, Boba leaned against the wall but every muscle was tense, his face hard. “Someone had already taken it from there when we got to it.”

“Where was Yoda from?” Boba asked, to a startled look from Luke. “The kid, it’s like him. Small. Green. The ears,” he waved a hand vaguely, one finger tracing a triangle shape in the air. “Where?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are there more like him?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said, and Boba muttered a _useless_ under his breath.

“It’s a tiny Yoda?” Han asked, eyebrows rising again. “Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on, anymore?”

“You’re going to bring it to the Jedi, right?” Luke asked, and Din didn’t know who he was talking about, but Boba seemed to understand immediately, stiffening and glowering.

“We’re not bringing it anywhere.”

“But you have to. Right?” Luke looked at Han for confirmation, and then Leia, though she was ignoring them as she read through files with Cara. “You can’t just… right? It’s force-sensitive.”

“It’s a _baby,”_ Boba said sharply. “We’re not _giving_ it to anyone.”

“You don’t know anything about the Force,” Luke said. “You couldn’t ever train it.” He wasn’t wrong, Din knew, but – did it matter? Din had never heard of the Force before, had never seen anything like it before the child lifted a mudhorn off the ground, and – did that mean they weren’t equipped to take care of it?

“So I should just hand it over to you?” Boba spat, “you didn’t even know it was out there. _We_ took it from them. It would still be with them, if not –”

“Looks like it _is_ with them, despite your heroic rescue,” Han rolled his eyes. “Since, y’know, you no longer _have_ the kid.”

“If it can’t be with its kind, it should be with the Jedi,” Luke said, more insistent than he’d sounded yet, and Din felt something tear apart in his chest, a dark, bottomless knowing. “You can’t take care of a kid who can use the Force. It needs training. The Force can be dangerous.”

“We’re not giving it to the Jedi,” Boba said, flat. 

“You _have_ to. It needs to be raised by its own kind,” Luke said, “Force users. It needs that.”

“It doesn’t _need_ its own kind, no one does,” Boba snapped, and when Luke started to interject, pushed himself off the wall. Din had to snatch back the urge to reach for him, pull him somewhere safe, because Boba was speaking from somewhere long ago, because his anger was an old hurt and no one here could fix it. “They didn’t come for it. One orphan in the galaxy doesn’t mean anything to anyone. _No one_ came for it. No one _ever_ _does._ I’m not handing it over to some _fucking Jedi,_ just because it can use the Force. We don’t owe anything to the people who didn’t come for it.”

“Yeah, much better to let it get raised by a murderer,” Han said, and Boba rounded on him, though Han didn’t even stand straighter, just smirked at Boba, shoulder against the door. “Like the galaxy needs another one of you,” he said, and Din thought Boba would absolutely fly off the handle, but he just stood there, looking stricken and furious. One orphan in the galaxy, he’d said; the kid was already just like him.

“I’m _trying_ to read!” Leia barked, and they all turned towards her. She was still facing the screen, scrolling rapidly through pages. “You want to know where the Resistance is hiding this doctor? Then shut up and let me read.”

“But,” Luke began.

“Shut up.”

“They’re going to keep the kid,” Luke said, and Leia finally turned, looked first at him and then at Din and Boba. “Come on,” Luke said, quieter, “it should be with its kind, whether that’s wherever Yoda came from or with the Jedi.”

“Luke,” Leia said, very soft, “what if someone had said that about us, hmm? Where would we be then?” She stared at Boba, expression unreadable. “Or what if our father had gone to the people he thought were his enemies, and asked for help?”

The room fell silent, and Leia turned back to the screen. Din didn’t know their father, didn’t know what would have happened, what different course their lives would have taken if they’d been left with him. The way Leia looked at Boba, Din thought that maybe – maybe their father was a tiny bit like Boba, or could have been, if he’d responded to a crisis with his children by asking his enemies, with all their power for good, to help him forge his new direction. And, sure, it probably wouldn’t have changed the whole galaxy, but for his kids, it may have changed everything for them. Maybe it wasn’t part of a legend, who lost children ended up with, but it felt like the most meaningful part of a legacy anyways.

 _We will get our kid back, we will get our kid back,_ Din wanted to chant it like a prayer, wanted to take Boba’s face in his hands and promise him that. In the midst of everything, Din wanted to tell Boba the entire truth about what he felt, that Din _loved_ him, because there was a moment as Din looked at the years-old hurt on Boba’s face and the familiar mask of anger it wore – there was a moment where Din felt like it could really, really matter. Like it could prove to Boba the lengths Din would go to for him, like it was the last thing left after a storm, a burned village, a tragedy.

They were here, and Din loved him. Maybe the whole world wouldn’t have changed, if Leia and Luke’s father, whoever he’d been, had possessed the strength it took come to his enemies for help and weather their doubts that he could ever change, to stand there and prove it to them; standing there, before the people Boba had wronged, needing their help to make everything whole again – Din felt like it could. The world, the galaxy, maybe just their own lives but that would be enough – and it mattered, that Din loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell with me at icehot13 on tumblr about how ridiculous all of this is!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone reading!!! i can't believe how L O N G this fic is, i have no self-restraint. i love all your comments so much, thank you for enabling me in this!!! PS come yell on tumblr (icehot13) about your boba/din headcanons or whatever i just love talking about it ok  
> also the blog now features exclusive ridiculous cara/leia and din/boba fic, sooooo

The child was _theirs._ Din had no idea how to articulate such an obvious fact. He wanted to just – just _leave,_ take the information about the safe house on Rugosa and keep trying to find their child. It was out there, _waiting_ for them, and – and they couldn’t leave. They were stuck in an invisible way, all doors open and the sky clear, but they couldn’t get out of the base.

“Does no one see a problem with this?” Luke said, at least for the third time. He looked impatiently between Cara and Boba, as though he might find a sympathetic audience there. “You guys aren’t – you know! _Trained_ for this, or anything.”

“You’re right, let’s send you instead. The true professional,” Boba snorted. “Lots of fraught negotiations with the Empire, back on Tattooine? Conduct many rescue operations for Jawa hostages?”

“We send _you_ , you might end up joining them again,” Han said to Boba; Din had the distinct impression that Han didn’t care who went, so long as it was anyone but Boba. “Either that, or you’ll kill the guy. You don’t have many tricks besides rolling over for the Empire and attacking.”

Boba had given Din a few imploring looks, early on in the argument, but Din had shaken his head no. As much as he wanted to just _leave,_ they couldn’t leave on such blatantly bad terms. Leia had given them invaluable information, and there was always the chance they would need more. He was still hoping to leave with Leia on their side.

“Luke,” Cara said, “come on. You can’t just jump in and take this, okay?”

“Why not? I knew Yoda.”

“I knew him,” Boba said, “does that make me qualified, too?”

“Well, no. But you need a Jedi, obviously. The kid can use the _Force._ You need someone _trained.”_

“To do what?” Cara had her hands on her hips, scowling in Luke’s direction. “What’s the Force going to do that two bounty hunters with blasters can’t? The kid doesn’t even know you, Luke.”

“So?”

“I don’t think it likes strangers,” Cara said. “It Force choked me once when it misunderstood a game. It’s not just going to _go_ with you.”

“It’s a baby,” Boba loomed beside her, and Luke took a tiny step backwards. “Not a Force vessel.”

Din sighed, turned back to the projected image above the desk. The safe house on Rugosa, where the doctor had been placed in hiding. Beside him, Leia leaned a hip against the desk, still watching the argument.

“Thank you, by the way,” Din said, and Leia’s gaze shifted to him. “We really needed your help.”

“Well, I couldn’t say no to Cara,” Leia said, gave a half smile, “even when she shows up with Boba Fett in tow.”

“She can be very convincing.” Din paused. “And a very good friend. I know she hates what he’s done, but she’s still helping us.”

“For you, right?” Leia said. “Because he’s with you.” Din lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “She’s an exceptionally loyal person, isn’t she? She stands by us no matter what we do.” Leia sighed, turning to study the floating image as well. “You know what keeps surprising me? No matter what’s happening in the galaxy, whether it’s the Empire returning or the Death Star – we can still think about our own problems. It feels so small in comparison, but even with such big and terrible things happening, I still think about myself.”

The Empire loomed in the distance, details obscured even as it grew larger, and still – still, Din thought about other things. The galaxy on the verge of something big, something terrible, and Din could become lost in wondering if he should tell Boba how he felt.

“I think everyone does that.”

“Even Mandalorians?” Her voice was gentle beneath its teasing. Din could see why Cara liked her, why he was certain this was the woman Cara had fallen in love with after only a day. She had a deliberateness about her, a sureness that she carried even while lost. Boba had addressed her as a princess, and maybe she was, but there was a calm regality that didn’t come from the title. Leia was queen of her own nation, held herself up so she could depend on herself.

“How did this happen?” Leia asked. “You and him. I know about Mandalorians, and I know he isn’t really one. I don’t see much intersection between your beliefs and his.”

“I don’t think he believed in much,” Din said, “I think that might have been the problem. But the child – it’s a foundling, it was all alone. That brings you back to your beginnings, and to who you were then.”

“It resets you,” Leia murmured. “Were you a foundling?”

“Yes.”

“Was he?” she asked, and Din still didn’t know the details, but there were lost years in between the few mentions Boba had given. He’d been orphaned young, Din knew, but Boba had only spoken of it through his own failings: being sent to prison, feeling used by the people he joined up with, failing to kill the man who had killed his father.

“He would have been, but no one found him.”

“Oh, no,” Leia sighed, “don’t make me feel bad for him. He captured Han and worked for Darth Vader, I can’t be going around feeling sympathy for him.” She scrunched up her nose, but Din could tell she was already looking at Boba and seeing him differently, just around the edges, just at his very core. A beginning she hadn’t known, a very recent turn she hadn’t seen coming; all the rest stayed the same, but he knew she was seeing a tiny blurring that hadn’t been there before.

“Let us look for the child,” Din said. “Please. We’ll tell you everything we find out. This child – it’s ours. They didn’t just take a Force-capable foundling, they took our kid.” It felt like wrenching his heart from his chest and offering it to her, admitting that this child, it was _their_ child, they were hurting every moment it was gone. _I held it when it cried,_ Din was saying, _he sang it to sleep, our arms feel empty without it._

“He’s staying with you, after all this is over?” Leia asked; she wasn’t talking about the child. If it was the child, her voice would be soft, curious, concerned for a small innocent. Instead, she peered at Din as though she knew this was a mystery she would never be able to fully investigate but desperately wanted to understand.

“He’s mine.”

Across the room, the argument had become heated again; Cara was gesturing in exasperation, Boba and Han looked seconds from drawing blasters, and Luke kept protesting.

“You haven’t changed either!” Boba was snarling, “You’re still a guy who deserves to be in carbonite.”

“Yeah, and you’re still licking the boots of the first guy in a mask you come across who’ll put you on a leash!”

“Enough,” Leia said, sharply. Luke turned towards her immediately, and Han sent a last glare Boba’s way before looking at Leia. “They’re leaving. We are staying.”

“Leia,” Luke started to protest, and Leia shot him a look.

“Luke,” she retorted.

“ _Leia.”_ More emphatic, as he gave her wide-eyed looks and non-subtle looks towards Boba with raised eyebrows.

“ _Luke.”_ Leia matched his emphasis. Han tipped his head back and sighed, clearly waiting it out.

“ _Leia!”_

“They’re leaving,” Leia repeated. “We are staying. They’ll keep us updated, and we’ll get involved again if they need us.” Luke scowled, mumbling under his breath, and Cara leaned in to talk to him, placating.

“The sooner I get to stop looking at your face, the better,” Han said to Boba, “You should keep the helmet on like your friend over there.”

“Have _you_ considered a helmet?” Boba said, flat, “You have a face that makes people want to punch you. Can’t be good for your health.”

“He’s obviously not keeping you around for your looks,” Han said, “Personal expendable bounty hunter, maybe? Looks like you were pretty replaceable to the Empire, after all. Can’t be hard to find a better version of you.”

To this, Boba said nothing; his jaw was tight, though, and he looked moments away from diving forward to choke Han. Of all the things Han had said, _this,_ this was what made him go silent, and Din needed to get him out.

“ _Werlaara,”_ he said, and Boba turned his head immediately, “ _Ni hukaat’kama,”_ Din said, because Boba looked alone, looked like he may have forgotten he had Din, always had Din. _I’m covering your back,_ he said, because Boba looked like he needed to be reminded. Boba just looked at him, a plea on his face. “We’re leaving,” Din announced to the others, “We’ll send a report afterward.” When Din moved for the door, Boba was at his side instantly, with a tiny exhale of relief only Din could hear.

Luke and Han stayed behind, thankfully; Din led the way back towards the entrance, Cara and Leia trailing behind them, talking quietly. He wanted to ask Boba if he was okay, after all this, after facing these people and weathering their storm, but Boba was silent beside him and Din knew the answer already.

Leia stopped at the beginning of the tunnel leading to the exit to say goodbye; looking between her and Cara, Din knew Cara would be staying behind, if only during their visit to Rugosa. He’d never seen them part before, but he knew Cara wouldn’t be looking so calm, so content, if she was leaving Leia.

“Let me know what he says,” Leia told Din, “I’m here to help. I want what’s best for the child, too.”

“Even if it’s us?” Boba said, and the way Leia looked at him was more studying than it had been before.

“It very well may be. Just like all problems aren’t gigantic and galaxy-scale,” she said, looking directly at Din, “all solutions aren’t to bring in the entire cavalry. Sometimes they’re small. Sometimes, they’re letting a foundling stay found.”

Though Leia stayed in the base, Cara followed them back up the ladder to the jungle above the base. Din watched as she resealed the cover on the manhole entrance.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” he asked, and she shrugged a shoulder. She still wore Leia’s cloak.

“I think you’re right about this being part of something bigger. I thought I could stay for a while and help Leia. I know we want the kid back, but someone has to deal with whatever the bigger thing happening is. Thought I could help, and I can rejoin you guys once we know what’s happening next.”

“She needs the help,” Boba muttered, “look at the idiots she’s got around her.”

“That’s who she chose?” Din asked, couldn’t help himself. “Han?”

“She says that he has this – drive, or whatever, to answer the call for help. She seems some kind of nobility in him.” Cara shook her head, “ _Leia_ is the noble one. Han goes along with whatever’s happening around him, and he’s just lucky that it happened to be something heroic and important. Leia _looks_ for it.” She turned to Boba, and he looked as surprised by this as Din felt. “Luke’s got some fucking nerve, too. He’s a good guy, I _know_ he is, but he’s got nothing but perfect-world solutions. Like sure, it’d be great if the kid wasn’t taken from its own kind and could go back to them, but you know what? We don’t know where the hell that is. They’re probably dead, or they don’t even _exist.”_

“Does seem strange no one’s ever seen another of its kind besides Yoda,” Boba said, almost sounded suspicious that Cara seemed to be agreeing with him.

“Exactly! Luke’s always been lucky. He doesn’t understand what it’s like not to be lucky.”

It had begun raining very slightly, only a slight mist making its way through the dense foliage above. Cara pulled the cloak closer around her, and Din had never seen her like this before – in Leia’s presence, even just on the same planet as Leia, there was a belonging that emanated from her.

“He needs to remember that he got lucky. Leia’s right, if they’d been given back to _their_ family, everything would have been really different.”

“Why?” Din asked. It had been a small point that he hadn’t been able to stop wondering about, maybe just because he’d wondered about it himself so often, who he’d be if he’d stayed where he’d begun.

“Their mother died giving birth to them,” Cara said, turned back to Boba. “Their father became Darth Vader.”

Boba stared at her, open-mouthed. Din had heard the name for the first time only that day, when Leia had said Boba worked for him, and it didn’t mean much to him beyond being clearly Imperial. Boba looked as though the galaxy had been turned inside out.

“Their father is Darth _fucking_ Vader, and Luke has the audacity to say _I’m_ a bad parent?” he finally spat out, and Cara choked on a laugh. “I can’t believe this. He thinks I’m worse than Darth Vader, who destroyed his own kid’s home planet and tried to rule the galaxy. I’m not that fucking bad.”

“Exactly,” Cara said, and Boba blinked at her, clearly hadn’t been expecting agreement. “You guys should get going,” Cara said, “Tell us what happens. I’ll come to wherever you are as soon as you need me.”

“Thanks,” Din said, and when Boba looked at him, tilted his head towards Cara; Boba nodded.

“See you, Cara,” he said, and started towards where they’d left the Crest. Din lingered, watching Cara fuss with the edge of Leia’s cloak. “So… Leia,” Din ventured. He wasn’t great at this; Cara had been incredible at it immediately, had met him on Sorgan and known how to ask tough questions, how to somehow make him understand that she could be trusted. Din didn’t know how to do any of that. “I like her,” Din went on, as Cara watched him like she was fascinated to see what came next. “You like her.” He was terrible at this.

“Who wouldn’t like Leia?” Cara gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look. Din tilted his head. Cara blew out a noisy breath. “Yes, it’s her.” Cara ran a hand through her hair, kicked at a loose vine on the ground, suddenly very busy studying their surroundings. “She’s amazing. What the _hell_ is she doing with Han?” Before Din could attempt to find an answer, Cara was already going on, “she’s with him because she thinks he’s brave, and selfless, and noble, and because she sees all the good things in everyone. Stubbornly!”

“She sees good things in you, too,” Din said, and Cara blinked at him like maybe it hadn’t occurred to her. “Maybe you should… talk to her.” He paused. Cara stared. “It’s what you tell me to do.”

“I sure do.” Cara finally grinned at him. “Tell you what, you go talk to him, I’ll go talk to her, we’ll meet back up for a joint wedding.” She smacked him in the shoulder. “Go to Rugosa. Call me when you need me. We’ll be okay,” she said, but somehow he knew it meant _you and me,_ like they would both survive this, no matter who loved them back and who didn’t.

Din caught up with Boba at the Razor Crest; Boba was waiting for him in the cockpit, flight plan already programmed and the ship ready to take off. He was staring out the viewscreen as rain pelted against it, his jaw tight, one knee bouncing. Din sank into the pilot’s seat, reached up to remove his helmet; it still felt unfamiliar, lifting it off in the presence of someone else, although Boba’s presence didn’t feel like anyone else’s, like something that would either pass beneath a radar’s scan or would be the only thing it could ever register.

Din didn’t say anything, as he flipped the last couple of switches and powered on the engines, guided the ship through its takeoff. As much as he could sense Boba’s desire to say something, Boba’s need to be far away from D’Qar was a burning ache Din could feel.

Once the streaking stars of hyperspace replaced the rivulets of rain on the viewscreen, Din turned to Boba. Boba hadn’t moved from his spot, still except for the movement of his knee.

“Why did she change her mind?” Boba finally said, still studying the stars like he expected to find answers there. “She knows everything. How could she change her mind?”

“I told her it isn’t just a foundling,” Din said, “I told her it’s ours. Maybe that reassured her about our intentions.” He still didn’t know what, exactly, had made Leia take their side. She’d seen more of them than anyone else had been allowed, but Din wasn’t sure which precise glimpse had swayed her. Maye she wasn’t seeing them at all; maybe the comparison to her own father had been enough. “What they were saying, about Leia and Luke’s father,” Din started, watching Boba flex and curl his hands, the small movement fraught with tension. 

“I’m the one who told him. I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t realize – he hired me to find the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star, and all I could give him was the pilot’s name, I told him it was Skywalker, but that – that was enough to start everything that happened next.” The look Boba gave Din was so defeated, so helpless, Din felt cracked open just by seeing it. He didn’t know what had happened, but these people did, knew more about what Boba had done, what he’d been, than Din.

 _Even if you have wronged everyone in the galaxy,_ he wanted to promise, _there are still some you did right by. We matter._ He didn’t feel like he had the authority to say it, to speak for the lives ruined by whatever was set into motion when Boba faced Darth Vader and said _Skywalker._

“The only thing that makes me a fucking original is that I’m the worst one,” Boba muttered under his breath. “Fuck, I hate those three. And they haven’t even _done_ anything. They helped us, even! They have no reason to, they _know_ what I’ve done, and they’re not wrong to hate me. I just – I hate how they look at me.”

“What about how I look at you?” Din asked, tentative. He just – he wanted that to matter. He wanted to matter, in the grand scheme of a tortured legacy. Boba lifted his head, and his eyes were pleading, but he didn’t say anything. “You have to see that.”

The words were hard to form, and sometimes he wondered, why Basic was so much more difficult, why Mando’a was always easier even though he’d learned it later in life, but he thought maybe it was because Mando’a had been the language of his rescue, and maybe it was because in Mando’a, saying this was to say _I know you forever,_ to say he felt like he’d always known Boba, that he always would, that they were made for each other in a destined, cosmic way.

“You don’t,” Boba said, and though his voice was hard, the words broke in the middle. “You can’t.”

“ _Werlaara,”_ Din swallowed hard, reached for him in their language. It was theirs, just like the child, just like everything that had happened since Din followed a map he hadn’t known he possessed that led him right to where Boba fell. It was written in this language just for them, the way to find each other. _“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”_

“No,” Boba said, hoarse, but Din had told him, Din had told him the truest thing he knew and Boba was shaking his head, voice trembling. _I love you,_ Din had said, and Boba was pulling back. Din’s heart was racing and he felt heat rising up the back of his neck, a trembling uncertainty blooming in his chest. It was so hard to breathe, to hear anything besides his pounding heartbeat. “I can’t,” Boba started, stopped like the words had run away from him. He dropped his head into his hands, took a breath that made his shoulders shake and he wasn’t looking at Din, but Din felt like he’d been cracked open to his very core, laid bare, unguarded and ruined. 

Maybe there was something Din was supposed to do, maybe he was supposed to know where Boba had retreated to and know how to bring him back, but Din – he couldn’t, he couldn’t. Their child was gone and he was watching Boba slip through his fingers, too, was losing and losing and he’d told Boba he loved him and the last thing Din had, the most important thing, was burning down.

This had to be legendary, Din thought distantly. He couldn’t bear to watch it unfold; it had to be something the galaxy would someday know, how much Din hurt, how the world had turned upside down in an instant, how Din had loved him and ruined him.

“Hey,” Din forced himself to speak again, although he felt like never doing it again, never showing his face, never, never. He wanted to ask why, ask how he had misunderstood so gravely, where he had lost his way, but it felt like ripping open his chest anew and he didn’t have the strength to do it anymore, to be seen again. “We’ll focus on the kid, okay? It needs us.” They were still a clan of three; Din had to remember that, it was all he had left, the only place he belonged.

Boba lifted his head, rubbed his face and sat back, head tipped against the seat and shoulders slumped. He didn’t say anything, but the misery on his face made Din wonder if Boba didn’t miss the way he’d been before – locked down but untouchable, carrying only old and scarred-over hurt, alone. Din didn’t know what he’d done wrong, and it was to face the proof that he didn’t know everything about Boba, didn’t know the hurt that lurked in between the legendary parts of his life, didn’t know how he had broken. He looked like a mystery again, the pain on his face familiar but the reasons obscured, coming from places Din hadn’t been and a life he hadn’t been part of. Din didn’t know how he ever thought Boba could be his; Boba was a vast and complex legend Din could never touch, never reach.

 _I know you forever,_ and maybe the Mando’a was wrong; Din could love him without knowing him, could love his broken pieces without knowing what had happened to them. Din would feel this forever, and maybe that was all it meant: he would always carry this, would never again be the man he was before he’d known Boba. Forever, just like the legends that would be told about them, or maybe just about Boba Fett, and not the man who he hadn’t loved back.


	23. Chapter 23

Din could hear the hum of the ship, and it felt very wrong.

He lay awake, staring at the wall beside his bed, listening to the distant whirr of machinery only audible when the ship was entirely silent. Lately, he hadn’t been able to hear it, the small hum overlapped by the soft sound of Boba’s breathing beside him. He shouldn’t be able to hear it; he should be listening to the slow inhale-exhale of Boba’s breath, his tiny movements as he shifted, the small murmurs he made if Din moved too quickly. Din had left him in the cockpit, murmured only that he was going to sleep, leaving Boba to decide if he wanted to come; he had stayed in the cockpit, and Din had been lying awake for hours in the dark, everything so silent, he could hear the ship.

At first, all Din could feel was the hurt. It was hard to breathe past the pain, and it threatened to run away with him, to carry him further and further into the fog of rejection. Like he’d been wrong about everything, like he’d looked up expecting himself to be one place and finding he was in another entirely, and that felt – _familiar_.

The last time Din felt this way, the last time he looked at Boba and felt overwhelmed by unrecognition, felt like he was being betrayed because all the signs had pointed to one thing and here he was, finding another entirely – last time, Din had been _wrong._

 _I just want to find our kid, and raise it,_ Boba had said, _and be with_ him _._ Boba had reached for Din’s hand over and over, and when Din was near dying, Boba had sworn _I’m not letting them take you from me,_ as if he could feel that Din belonged to him and that tearing them apart would be terribly, cosmically wrong. And he’d stayed – Din had found him, and he’d stayed, kept coming back. Boba _knew_ he could belong with Din, with their child, knew he could always stay, even if he didn’t love Din.

Footsteps made Din flinch, but he stayed as still as he could as he listened to them near. He’d closed the door to the compartment but now regretted it, hearing Boba come close enough to see the closed door. Was he coming to sleep next to Din? To talk to him, and let him down gently? Din was afraid to find out, and then Boba was leaving again, climbing the ladder, the ship falling back into silence.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. When Din stopped and looked beyond how much it had hurt to tell Boba he loved him and have Boba look at Din like it had ruined him – Din wasn’t going to misunderstand him again. Last time, he’d had only a few days with Boba and then what looked like a betrayal, and this time, he had so much _more_ than that. Boba had done a thousand things that had made Din think Boba would feel _something_ for him, and one that said he didn’t. It was the most painful, the most recent, but that didn’t make it the most significant. Something would explain it; Din just had to figure out what piece he was missing. Boba was his. Boba _wanted_ to be his. Din just had a little further to go before they could get there.

Though Din had a plan and possibly a glimmer of hope, it didn’t make the rejection hurt any less in the present. He was still here, was still pushed away, and he allowed himself to hide until they were close enough to land on Rugosa, only venturing to the cockpit when it was time to pilot the landing. Boba was slouched in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the instrument panel, chin in his hand as he looked out at the planet below them.

“Hey,” Din offered, soft, as he slid past Boba to get to the captain’s chair. “Worried about the kid?”

“Yeah. Keep reminding myself it’s not gonna be there at the safe house,” Boba said, “Feel like it’s still going to feel disappointing, though.”

“We’ll be closer,” Din said, though he didn’t know, not for sure. He couldn’t stop wondering where they were keeping the kid – not just what planet, what base, but _where._ Its cradle had been lost on Nevarro, and its blanket from Sorgan was still on the ship. Was anyone carrying it from place to place? Had they given it a new cradle? Was it soft?

They landed at one of the small spaceports; Rugosa’s signature forest of land coral surrounded the small structure, rising up around them as soon as they stepped outside. Despite the lack of leaves, there was still a surprising amount of shade, due to the density of the purple coral branches crisscrossing overhead. Small winged creatures flitted overhead, didn’t stay still long enough for Din to see anything besides translucent wings.

It took twenty minutes of walking before Boba said anything. “Where is this place?” he asked, “Is this house in the middle of nowhere, or something?”

“I’m not sure.” The coordinates were still quite a ways further ahead, but after another few minutes, Din realized how the moon’s vanished ocean had effected the inhabitants. Rugosa had been entirely ocean, once, and it seemed the inhabitants had chased the water underground when it had receded. The coral remained above-ground, but judging by the tunnel he spotted ahead, everything else had gone under.

“There we go, it must be down there,” he said, but when he looked to his side, he realized Boba had stopped several paces ago. Stopped, and – had someone _shot_ him? He was gasping for air like he’d been shot, bent over slightly and spitting curses as if he was in pain. Din looked around, frantic, but could see no one. “What happened?” He was at Boba’s side immediately, touching his shoulder, his back, but nothing seemed hurt, nothing seemed to have _happened._

“Nothing,” Boba choked, “Nothing. Shit. Nothing.” But he was breathing hard, trembling beneath Din’s hands as Din clutched at his shoulders.

“What do you mean, nothing?!” Din kept looking over his shoulder, expecting _something,_ but there was no one, no movement. The tunnel was deserted, leading deep underground towards the town, but no one emerged from its open mouth. Boba just shook his head, bent over with his hands on his knees, clearly not _fine_ if he was struggling so hard to breathe, _shaking._ “Should we –” he started, taking a half step backwards towards the tunnel, unsure what he was offering, but it seemed terrifying to be out in the open like this, although there was no one around.

 _“No,”_ Boba gasped, “Don’t, don’t go in! Din!”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Din didn’t understand. He had no idea what was happening, but his heart was racing in responding panic. “Okay. You’re okay,” he said, though he didn’t know, was having a hard time believing it. He wanted to take Boba’s helmet off for him, but didn’t know if that would make things worse or better. “You’re fine, everything’s fine. I’m here, you’re fine.”

 _Was_ he fine? He was normally so stoic and calm but suddenly he was falling apart and Din didn’t know how to help _,_ something must have _happened_ but Din didn’t know what. “It’s okay,” Din kept saying, the only thing he knew how to do, “We’re alright. I’ve got you. We’re okay.”

Gradually, after what felt like far too long, it seemed to stop; Boba took slower breaths, wasn’t trembling as much, and though he still seemed unsteady, he at least stood upright, though Din didn’t let go of his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Boba said, but his voice was hoarse and faint. Din didn’t know what was going on, but Boba didn’t seem very far out of the woods, in his opinion.

“What? How is this fine?” Din tried to dial back his near-hysterical worry. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. This just – happens,” Boba said, unconvincing and faint. Din wanted to demand better answers, but he knew it was his own frantic panicking that was making him sound harsher than he meant to. He took a deep breath, still couldn’t make himself let go of Boba.

“Please,” he tried, “Please tell me.”

“It’s,” Boba began, and he waved a hand vaguely; it took Din a moment to realize he wasn’t brushing off the question, but indicating the tunnel. “Underground,” Boba said, suddenly sounded so weary, so defeated. “I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me. It’s like every time I see a pit, I think I’m back there.”

“It’s happened before?” Din thought back, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Boba was nodding, though.

“With the mudhorn.” He looked down, as though this could keep Din from seeing him. “You went in, and I lost it.” Din hadn’t noticed. He’d been busy getting heaved into the mud and trying to escape, but it still didn’t feel like an excuse. He’d just walked away from Boba, when _this_ had been happening? Din could barely remember anything before finding the mudhorn; how hadn’t he known that Boba needed him? Boba was _his,_ he should have had Din to rely on, should have him _now,_ but Din hadn’t known about any of it. “I don’t know,” Boba’s voice had faded to a mumble. “It’ll probably go away eventually.”

“ _Werlaara,”_ Din murmured. Could he still call Boba that, after last night? Regardless, Boba was still his legend, though Din’s understanding of what Boba had survived was continually changing, a legend of glory revealing more and more tragic pieces as they went.

“I can still go,” Boba said, and Din felt how his shoulders straightened, and let go of him. He wanted to ask if Boba was sure, to tell him he didn’t have to, that it was _okay_ to be traumatized after what had happened to him. Boba was clearly refusing to acknowledge it, so deep in denial that he didn’t seem to know what was wrong with him. _Of course you’re hurting,_ Din wanted to tell him, _you spent a year down there, you thought you’d spend a thousand more._ Why hadn’t Din _seen this coming?_ Boba had told him what happened, and Din had treated it like – like everyone else who heard a story about Boba Fett, infamous bounty hunter. He’d assumed Boba had survived unscathed.

Had Boba escaped _anything_ unscathed? He stood before Din the product of everything that he’d done, but he was everything it had done _to_ him, as well. Din had heard Boba talk about the Sarlacc pit and hadn’t wondered if it had scarred him. He’d promised to keep Boba safe from it ever happening again, realized it had been a painful time for Boba, but – he hadn’t wondered if Boba was _still_ hurting from it. How many things had he been unable to heal from?

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Din said. Boba shrugged, still looking away. Din wanted to reach for him, almost felt like he didn’t know how anymore, after being pushed away, but Boba was stepping back before he could think of what to do.

“Let’s go,” Boba said, “Then we can get out of here and find the kid.” He took a few steps towards the tunnel, his hesitation evident in how he held his shoulders, how he flexed and curled his fingers as he stood looking at it. Din passed him, and when he heard the sound of Boba’s spurs, relaxed just a fraction. He couldn’t reach for Boba, couldn’t get Boba to talk about it, but he could go first, so Boba would remember he wasn’t alone.

The tunnel was, to Din, entirely unlike the Sarlacc pit. It was wide, gently sloping downward, and further down, lined with lights. The further down they got, the closer Boba’s footsteps came, until he stayed at Din’s elbow, close enough to touch. Din could hear his shallow, still-rapid breathing.

Fully underground, the cavern opened up to an extraordinary degree, and Din could almost forget they were underground at all. He wondered if Boba could. At the very least, he seemed okay – though this had been going on for a while, and Din hadn’t known. Surely if things got this bad, there had to be more minor instances that he’d missed, too.

The town underground was busier than Din had been expecting. The scent of saltwater carried through the streets, and Din saw more than a few wagons driven by fishermen, loaded with fish. It was odd, to see a seaside town underground, and Din felt unusually unsettled by it all. Was it – had it been a panic attack? He didn’t really know what those looked like, but _panic_ was heartbreakingly accurate a description of what had happened.

“Are we lost?” Boba’s voice made Din flinch in surprise.

“What?”

“We came this way already,” Boba tilted his head towards the street corner that they’d admittedly passed by a few minutes ago. Din stopped in the middle of the busy walkway, looked over to see Boba studying the building to their left.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you,” Din blurted out, “You said – but there’s really not.” Boba was shaking his head, though.

“Of course there is,” he said, the words sharp, “You saw.”

“Yes, but it’s not –” Din struggled to explain the nuance between this being wrong in the sense that it was something that needed addressing but not wrong in that he was to blame. Before he could find the words, he became overly aware of their surroundings, and realized there wasn’t anything he could say that could reach Boba enough, not right now. They were in the middle of the walkway, people on all sides, underground. “Let’s go talk to this doctor and get out of here,” Din said instead. People were looking at them already, recognizing Boba and hurrying away, this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place. “He’s got to know something about where the kid could be,” he said, and Boba nodded immediately.

The safe house was an apartment, tucked around the corner from the busy market. Din led them into an alleyway, up rickety stairs, to the fourth floor. It made sense, for a safe house, he figured; underground was harder to track, made surveillance of ships harder when their passengers disappeared underground, and Rugosa was shockingly populated. Din knocked on the door. The doctor had been told they were coming; Leia had brought it up before they could go rushing to the coordinates, knowing that seeing either of them unannounced would send the doctor into hiding before he ever opened the door for them.

The door cracked open. Din recognized the man peeking around it, the doctor who had told Din that he’d protected the child, kept it safe from them. Maybe Din should thank him.

“Going to let us in?” Boba asked, sharp. The doctor flinched.

“Please,” Din added, “we need your help.” The door opened slowly, and then the doctor had darted backwards across the room to distance himself from them, something between confusion and terror on his face. “We’re not here to hurt you,” Din said, as Boba closed the door behind them. “We really do need your help.”

The apartment was small, sparsely furnished but well-kept. Din wondered if the doctor would stay here until the Empire stopped looking for him, if they ever would, if he was intending to do work for the Resistance instead, if he wanted to go home. The doctor stood behind an armchair, fingers clenching the fabric tightly.

“What’s your name?” Din asked, kept his voice gentle.

“Kian Pershing.” His voice shook.

“Alright.” Din didn’t move any closer, didn’t know how to appear unthreatening enough to counteract the presence of Boba.

“What’s he doing here?” Pershing nodded towards Boba. “Did – did they put out a bounty for me?”

“No,” Boba said, “Well, if they did, we’re not the ones collecting it.” Pershing went wide-eyed behind his glasses.

“There’s no indication they know where you are,” Din added, before Pershing could tremble to pieces. “They took the child back, though. That’s why we’re here.”

“They took it from you?” Pershing managed to look disappointed in them, despite his terror. Din sighed.

“Yes. We need to know where they could have taken it, if you know about anywhere they might have gone, or more about what they were doing with it.”

“I didn’t know much,” Pershing’s fingers flexed against the cushion, but his shoulders had relaxed marginally. “I’m a researcher, at a university on Coruscant. I have a doctorate in genetics, but I’ve been doing work specifically with midi-chlorians.” He stopped, as though the term explained everything. Din had never heard it before.

“What does that have to do with the kid?”

“The Force,” Boba said beside him, softly. “Why did they need a geneticist for all this?” he asked Pershing, voice tight.

“They wanted me to replicate the child’s midi-chlorians,” Pershing explained, “They wanted to splice its genes with the genes of someone who isn’t Force-sensitive, to make them a Force user. The child is especially of interest to them, its kind has always been known for their extreme Force sensitivity.” He peered at Din, pausing. “Why did _you_ want it?”

“Because it’s a baby,” Boba answered instead, sounding surly. “The Empire shouldn’t have it.” Pershing gave a thoughtful sound, but seemed too afraid to address Boba directly.

“They contacted me to tell me the child had been found,” Pershing said, more to Din than Boba, though he cut frequent nervous looks in Boba’s direction. “I didn’t know they were Imperials! They said they were researchers from a university I had worked with before. They had me work with other scientists to develop the procedure we would follow, but when you took for the child, I escaped.” Pershing finally let go of the chair, circled around to sit in it instead, like their conversation was sapping all of his energy. Beside Din, Boba seemed to be the opposite, looked ready to pace anxiously.

“These other scientists, where were they going to work? Surely this wasn’t based out of that lab on Nevarro,” Din said, and Pershing shook his head. The lab had been well-outfitted, but small, and Din couldn’t imagine anything Imperial restricted to something so small.

“They had the Nevarro lab for the preliminary work. I was there to sedate the child, extract a sample of its DNA, and ensure that it was truly Force-sensitive.”

“So where’s the real lab?” Boba asked. “It is on some fucking Death Star 2.0 or what?”

“I think it’s on Hishyim,” Pershing looked between them, “I’m not sure where that is.”

“Abrion sector,” Boba said. “Outer rim.”

“They mentioned it once,” Pershing explained, “The Hishyim facility. I think that’s where they were going to take me, and where the other scientists were sent.”

“They needed a whole facility for that?” Din asked, and Pershing could only shrug.

“I’m sure they knew how much equipment and work would be involved with such an undertaking. What they were asking for, it’s never been done. We don’t know much about midi-chlorians, despite how many scientists have dedicated their lives to studying them. They’re complex. We don’t know if it’s the quantity, or some quality about them that makes a person Force-sensitive. I didn’t want to experiment on a child, on any living person, not at this stage in the research.”

“It’s just a baby,” Boba said, almost too softly for even Din to hear from right beside him. Din wanted the child back so _badly,_ suddenly thought it might bring him to his knees.

“Thank you for protecting it,” Din said, and Pershing looked surprised. “What will you do now?”

“I… I don’t know.” Pershing pushed his glasses further up his nose, rubbed at his cheek. “I was going to go home, but it suddenly feels – not quite so important. I thought I might do more good somewhere else.” He looked lost at his own words, and Din knew how he felt, to be suddenly finding the path he was on leading somewhere new, somewhere terrifying and significant.

They were leaving the apartment when Boba stopped, turned back to look at Pershing. “If I hear they put out a bounty for you,” he said, and Pershing flinched like it was a threat, but maybe he couldn’t translate the softened edge of Boba’s voice as clearly as Din could. “We’ll tell you.”

“Thank you,” Pershing nearly whispered, and he remained wide-eyed in surprise when Din took a last look at him before closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me at tumblr at icehot13! There's ridiculous boba/din oneshots (a joint wedding!) and previews of the Boba POV of this fic i couldn't stop myself from writing.


	24. Chapter 24

Suddenly, Din had no instincts.

He couldn’t pinpoint what the tipping point had been, but he felt overwhelmed all the same, abruptly going from treading water to fully drowning. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, didn’t know how to reach for Boba anymore. It wasn’t any specific piece of what had happened, it was somehow _all_ of them, all at once.

It was that Din was deeply, irrevocably in love with him, it was that Din had _told_ him, and Boba still hadn’t said anything about it, had looked at Din with such miserable distance it was like he couldn’t comprehend anything Din said.

It was that their _child_ was gone, and every passing day was another day farther from the last time it had been safe.

It was that Din had learned he truly didn’t understand the extent of Boba’s suffering and it had made a stranger of Boba again, because despite everything, Din had still, still, _still_ seen him as the legendary bounty hunter who always survived unscathed. Boba wasn’t, never had been, and Din didn’t know how to understand him anymore.

He kept thinking, ridiculously, back to one of his trainers in the Fighting Corps. Din had struggled with long-distance target shooting, felt like he kept finding out about new things he had to factor in and it made something he’d previously assumed was doable seem impossible to ever master. His trainer had explained that there were stages to competency. First was to know nothing, next was to think he knew everything, and then, the most discouraging stage, was when he learned enough to realize just how much he _didn’t_ understand.

“You cannot stop there,” his trainer had said, “What lies beyond it is true understanding. Your recognition of what you _don’t_ know is the tool that will get you there.”

Din could accept that when it came to shooting, to learning how to use a jetpack, to hand-to-hand combat. He didn’t know how to handle it when it came to Boba. How could the realization that Boba had a multitude of broken pieces help him _know_ them? It was to see him both more and less clearly, and Boba wasn’t something he could just _learn._ He had to show Din the way first, and if he’d been hiding panic attacks and residual trauma, it didn’t seem like he wanted Din to know. It didn’t seem like _Boba_ wanted to examine it, either. 

At least they had a plan, at least there was _something_ Din could do; maybe he would feel strong enough to withstand this, if he wasn’t simultaneously falling apart, terrified for the child. He had the ship refueled and then contacted Cara, to tell her to meet them in orbit above Hishyim.

“Is that all you want to tell me?” she asked over the comlink, and Din frowned. He looked over his shoulder at the cockpit doorway, but Boba was still below deck.

“Yes.”

“You said you were gonna talk to him,” Cara whispered. Din sighed.

“I did not say that. And – I did.” He looked over his shoulder again. “I’ll see you when you get to Hishyim. We’ll dock to your ship and then we’ll strategize.”

Cara was silent for a few long moments; Din could hear the apology she wasn’t saying. He _missed_ her, he realized abruptly; it wasn’t a feeling he was used to, but he just really wished she was here, thought he might actually want to talk about – about telling Boba _I love you_ and being set adrift by Boba’s ensuing _I can’t._

“I’ll be there as soon as physically possible,” Cara said. “Possibly even sooner.”

Din exhaled, closed his eyes and tried to convince himself things wouldn’t fall apart before then. “Thank you, Cara.”

Boba stayed below deck for a long time; Din could hear him walking around, but had no idea if Boba wanted Din to give him space or keep him company. Had Din _ever_ been confident in knowing that? He wanted desperately to be past this part, somehow, to know what to do, to know how to _help._

It would take several hours to get to Hishyim, even in hyperdrive. Din fidgeted in his seat for a while, and when he couldn’t stand sitting still anymore, opened the access hatch to the instrument panel and started wiping down the exposed dividers and piping.

He heard footsteps when he was on his fourth section. He’d since dropped fully to his knees instead of just leaning down, and had removed his helmet; hearing Boba approach made him feel abruptly over exposed, but Boba already knew his face, nothing had _changed._ Maybe it was that Boba knew, too, that Din was in love with him, and Din was sure that the way he looked at Boba would just serve as a reminder.

“What are you doing?” He heard Boba sit in the passenger seat.

“Cleaning.” Din chanced a look over his shoulder. Boba appeared perfectly normal; Din couldn’t stop looking at the hard line of his jaw, the stubble on his cheeks, wanted to be so much closer, touching him. Boba’s eyes were dark, unreadable.

“Need any help?”

“It’s pretty cramped down here,” Din paused, tried to find something else to say. “We’re almost there, maybe an hour out,” he added, though Boba surely already knew. He didn’t seem to have come up for anything in particular, just propped his elbow on the instrument panel, fist against his cheek as he looked out the viewscreen. “I think something’s leaking, everything’s oily. Nothing major.”

“Greasy, or just slippery?”

“Uh. Slippery, I guess.” Din had never been terribly involved with his ship repairs, preferred to hand it off to someone else so he could use his time more effectively. He suspected Boba wouldn’t have trusted anyone with repairs to any iterations of the Slave.

“Probably the de-icing system,” Boba said absently. “That shit’s always the leak. Won’t affect anything that badly, though.”

“That’s good.” Din couldn’t think of anything else to say, and reluctantly turned back to cleaning. The de-icing chemical was hard to absorb with the cloth, and scrubbing mostly just slid it around. After a few minutes working at it, he looked over his shoulder again. Boba seemed to be have fallen asleep.

Din spent a while pushing the puddles of de-icing fluid around until he gave up and extracted himself from beneath the panel. He sat with his back to the instrument panel, stretched his legs out as much as he could and tilted his head back against the control panel, exhaled a slow breath. Maybe Boba couldn’t sleep downstairs, maybe the small compartment that housed the bed was too small, too reminiscent of the space where he’d been trapped for so long. Din wasn’t sure, but just in case, he stayed quiet and let Boba sleep. It was hard to look at him, harder still to look away. Din loved him so much it hurt.

Cara was waiting with her hands on her hips, when Din boarded her ship. He’d left Boba in the cockpit to stay with the ship, hoping he hadn’t sounded too desperate to have a few minutes alone with Cara. Boba hadn’t seem to notice though, had taken Din’s seat in the cockpit and slouched down, watching Hishyim loom below them on the viewscreen.

“Well?” Cara demanded, as Din closed the hatch behind him, climbed down the ladder and dropped to the floor.

“I could say the same to you,” he said, and Cara snorted.

“Well, I didn’t talk to Leia. Big surprise. Her boyfriend was around the entire time, so the time never felt right. What the hell happened to you guys?” she asked, and though it was vehement, there was a concern that made Din’s throat close up slightly.

“I told him and now he can barely look at me,” he forced himself to say. It was the only way to sum up how it felt, everything else either too big or too small for words. He was broken open, laid bare, had nothing left hidden and hadn’t been wanted; he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t hear Boba’s breathing beside him.

“What the _hell?”_ Somehow, Cara always managed to make that sound incredibly soft. “Din,” she said, her shoulders slumping, and somehow, his name was an apology without needing the words. He shrugged a shoulder helplessly, looking away, towards the cockpit of her ship, the bed in an open corner.

“Something’s wrong. I’m missing something, I know it. He shouldn’t have –” Like Boba was an equation that hadn’t turned out the way it should have, as though he could ever be so predictable. Din swallowed. “I thought I understood.” Something about the way Cara looked at him always made him keep talking, but it was starting to feel familiar, feel safe. “I thought we were on the same path.”

“You don’t know for sure, right? Maybe it’s just this whole thing,” she waved a hand to indicate their stolen child, and she didn’t even know about the rest, about the way Boba had seen the tunnel leading underground and broken down in a way Din had never seen, never suspected, how all at once he became more real and more damaged and more far away than he’d ever been before. She didn’t know that being a galaxy-wide legend meant that the whole galaxy had been given the chance to destroy him.

“There’s something I don’t know, I’m sure of it.” This was the stage before the knowing, the part where he could _feel_ that something was out there eluding him, the lost part, the desperate part.

The plan was to leave Cara’s ship in orbit and take the Razor Crest planetside; Din didn’t want to risk two ships being spotted on the planet’s surface, but wanted to have two means of escape relatively nearby. Worst came to worst, they could get off the planet with the Crest and take Cara to her ship, let her escape. Din didn’t know what danger a facility could pose, and Hishyim offered no clues, its surface a featureless desert that told him nothing. They knew little about what lay within the facility, Pershing’s work limited to what surely had to be a small piece of a greater plan. He had sent them a message not long after they’d left Rugosa, to tell them that the head doctor’s name was Nivenkan, that he hoped it would somehow be helpful information for them. Din didn’t see how it would be, but even one more known piece of the puzzle made the picture clearer. He craved more, but this was all they had, a planet, a name.

“I’ve literally never heard of this place before,” Cara said, leaned over to see through the viewscreen at the slowly nearing surface of the planet.

“More desert,” Boba muttered. “Always desert.”

“I guess you wouldn’t be a fan,” Cara said, and it had a surprising note of sympathy. “That the facility way out there?” 

There were several interconnecting buildings that had come up in the ship’s scans of the surface; though seemingly entirely desert, the planet’s surface was a sharp-edged landscape, with many cliffs and sheer drops. They’d seemingly chosen the planet for its remote location first and foremost, and not for its surface; they would be easy to approach, but first, they would have been exceedingly difficult to locate.

“How do we get in?” Din asked, “I could land out of sight.”

“No, we don’t have to do that,” Boba said; this time, Din recognized the tone of his voice, the same resignation it had carried when they were facing the entire Guild and he’d known the way out was to wield his name for all the fear and violence it was worth. “Use their landing pad.”

Cara arched an eyebrow at his directions, but Din didn’t question them. He brought them down to the planet’s surface, and landed squarely on the facility’s landing pad. Din was used to covert, to undetected and unknown; he didn’t know how Boba had ever built up the confidence this would take, how he’d been doing this for decades. Surely he’d have needed to learn quickly, and Din’s heart broke at the thought of a young Boba, faking the bravado it would take before he developed the steely courage that would carry him through.

“You stay here,” Boba told Cara, standing. She went to protest, but he shook his head. “You’ll have a comlink to us, and we’ll tell you if things go sideways. We’ll need you ready to leave, or to come in after us.”

“Alright,” Cara sighed. She accepted the comlink Din passed her, though she raised her eyebrows at him, as Boba slid past them to take the ladder. “This isn’t your style,” she said, “You gonna be alright?”

“I’ve done this before,” Din said, to a squinting look from her.

“I believe you’ve gone in guns blazing,” she said, “And I believe you’ve gone in stealth. You don’t walk in and announce your name and demand what you want. It’s insane, but it’s gutsy,” she said, easily one of the kindest things she’d ever said about Boba, “Just stand there and look intimidating,” she said. “The silent thing works when you’re with him.” She smacked his arm, waved for him to follow Boba. “You got this.”

Din wasn’t quite as sure, but when he saw Boba waiting for him, helmet back on and looking every bit the legend he’d made himself into, Din felt some of his doubt dissipate. This was what Boba _did._ Still a legend, still a name known around the galaxy, and still the man who would kill to save their child.

They left the ship, and Din found himself still scanning the building for access points, kept forgetting that they could just walk in the front doors. It was surreal, following Boba right through the metal doors that slid open at their approach.

Inside was eerily quiet. Everywhere Din looked was blank steel, sterile and featureless all the way down the corridor that stretched before them. A security droid stationed beside a turbolift perked up at their appearance.

“No reception desk, that’s pretty rude,” Boba muttered, and Din couldn’t help but find the reappearance of his impossibly dry humor encouraging. Would a return to his element embolden him, or just set him up to be damaged again? “Hey!” Boba barked at the droid. “Do I have to wait all day?”

“State your purpose,” the droid intoned.

“We’re here for Nivenkan,” Boba said, “Got something he may be interested in.”

“Very well. I will relay your request. Please standby.”

“Tell him it’s Boba Fett. He’ll take my call.” Boba waited with his arms crossed. The droid spoke into an internal comlink, reporting that Boba Fett had arrived with an item of interest. They couldn’t hear the response, but the droid informed them that the doctor would arrive shortly.

They didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the turbolift doors opened, and a man stepped out in front of them. The gray of his crisp uniform and of his hair contrasted with his blue skin, but his skin wasn’t the striking part of his appearances. It was his eyes that Din couldn’t look away from, entirely red, like a trapped sun burned beneath his blue skin.

“This is a surprise,” the man said. “Though not an unwelcome one.”

“I found something that may interest you,” Boba said, and Din didn’t know what that might be, but Boba spoke so matter-of-factly that he almost believed it himself. “Thought I’d give you the opportunity to bid.”

“How very kind.” The man smiled, humorless.

“The child Gideon found,” Boba said, and the man’s eyes narrowed slightly in interest. “I’m in possession of another. Stronger in the Force. Thought it might be of interest to you.”

“And you have come to me directly?”

“Wanted to see if it was going to a good home.” His voice carried a sneer. “Your credits aren’t much good until I have proof you’ll pay anything for it.” It was something Din wouldn’t have thought of, but as he worked through it, he could see the logic Boba wasn’t spelling out. He was implying that he wanted a return customer, and that a buyer with a compelling reason to purchase would be eager to prepay him for the next delivery and make the risk worthwhile.

“A man of foresight.”

“Sure.”

“In that case, I would be happy to offer you a tour of our facility. I think you’ll find that our use for the specimen guarantees our interest. I am Inronkini’venka’nurudo, I am the head scientist for the facility.” The multi-part name instantly made Din remember hearing about the man’s species, a long time ago. He was Chiss, and the name Pershing had used for him was his core name, plucked from the middle of the string of identifiers. The first part was the family and the last was how he was connected to them, whether by blood or by adoption. It had always seemed simultaneously similar and different from the Mandalorians, the inclusiveness familiar and the emphasis on naming foreign.

Nivenkan ushered them into the turbolift and it began rising, at least three floors before the doors opened again.

“I believe you will find this facility of special interest,” he said, as he strode down another featureless hallway, closed doors on all sides, silence and cool air settling over them. “We have focused on the midi-chlorians as a way to usher in a new era of genetics. The Force offers a unique opportunity only to the Force-sensitive, but we are very close to fostering this aptitude at a genetic level.”

“And then what?” Boba asked, “Force-sensitivity for all?”

“Oh, no,” Nivenkan chortled, but it was cold. “We seek a more strategic solution for the Empire.”

“Making Stormtroopers into Jedi, now?” Boba asked, and Nivenkan did not respond, just kept leading them down the hallway.

A chill was settling into Din’s chest, seeping deeper and deeper. He could feel it, the giant, looming figure of the Empire, on the verge of emerging from the fog that obscured it. This was so much bigger than them and they were entrenched too deeply to escape its shadow, darkness spreading around them on all sides, seeping into their veins.

Nivenkan stopped before a long window that overlooked a lab below. At first, Din couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, kept looking further and further up, the ceiling soaring far above. Pods lined the wall across from them, empty. Waiting.

“We are ready to increase production,” Nivenkan said, his voice faraway to Din, “We are still in the testing stages in our gene-splicing, but with another specimen, our work will –”

Din couldn’t hear Nivenkan anymore. Beside Din, Boba had drawn in a sharp breath, was understanding something Din couldn’t yet see, but Din knew, knew the figure had finally emerged. Bigger than them, bigger than their child, bigger than the legend that had brought them together.

It was here. The horizon was dark. The Imperial giant emerged from the fog, and all Din could hear was Boba’s voice, faint. Horrified.

“Clones.”


	25. Chapter 25

Boba stared at the empty wall of pods for a long moment, and then he turned to Nivenkan. Shoulders back, head high, and no one but Din would know that there was something deeply wrong. The tiny, choked inhale, the way he pulled himself to his full height like it was a struggle, the tilt of his head, the straightness in his shoulders. Din was expecting the sharpness in Boba’s voice even before he spoke.

“Show me them,” Boba said, and Nivenkan gave a slow, knowing smile.

“As I said. I believe you will find this of special interest.”

Din was missing a piece of this. He could see its shape in the air between them, a void where there was some kind of history, something he didn’t know. Din didn’t understand why there would be clones; Pershing had mentioned gene splicing, introducing Force sensitivity into DNA, but Din had initially thought it would maybe be done in Stormtroopers. His heart raced even as they followed Nivekan along the hallway, past the rows of empty pods, and through to the inner chambers of the facility.

Several turns led them to hallways that suddenly began reminding Din more of medical than military buildings. Something about the smell, maybe, the bland cleanliness sharpening into sterility.

“The specimens you can provide would greatly expand our ability to experiment and test,” Nivenkan was saying. “I believe we are on the cusp of success. Similar to how we can accelerate the growth of clones, we can prime their DNA for adaptation. We received only a small sample from the initial specimen, and it already catapulted us forward in our research with the latest test batch.”

They were passing labs, and when Din glanced into one of them as they passed, he nearly flinched when he saw a row of several occupied beds in an area sectioned off by a curtain. The glimpse was gone before he could register much beyond the tubes and machines and motionlessness, and then Nivenkan was stopping in front of another viewing window.

“You must excuse my enthusiasm to show my work,” he said to Boba, “But I couldn’t pass up the chance to show the continuation of research to the product of the original work! I would be quite pleased if one of my own creations was such a success.”

“A success, huh,” Boba said, voice flat. He was staring into the lab, and Din didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know, but he saw the way Boba was flexing his fingers and curling his hands into half-fists, heard the tiny shake in his breathing. Din looked.

It was another lab, with a set of four cots, three of them occupied. A human scientist was assembling a tray of syringes and consulting a datapad. Din was afraid to look away from him, and watched the scientist arrange syringes for a few long moments. He forced himself to turn his attention to the beds.

These were the clones. At first, all Din could register were how painfully young they were. Maybe seventeen, nineteen years old? Had they been here since birth? It was like they had been created to be foundlings, brought into the world without a history to comfort them, without a future to embrace them. All Din could see was lost children, children _created_ to be lost, and everything in him ached to fix it. No one knew they were here, how could anyone come for them, for these lost, unfindable foundlings? 

And then – then they looked familiar. He studied the face of the nearest boy to them, though he had an oxygen mask covering much of his face, and Din’s gaze kept flicking in concern to the tubing, the leads from the machines. He tried to focus on why this child suddenly looked familiar. The arch of his eyebrow, or maybe the shape of his chin. Something – something. Maybe just that he looked so alone.

“Perhaps my true intentions are slightly more than I implied,” Nivenkan said. “Imagine what you could have been, if the research back then had been as advanced as mine. You could become so much _more.”_ His words didn’t make any sense to Din. Had someone _done_ something to Boba, before? “I am restrained by the clones available to me,” Nivenkan said, “If I had access to something more advanced –”

“No,” Boba snarled. He was still staring into the lab, unmoving.

“I urge you to consider my offer.”

“You’re only asking,” Boba spat, “Because you don’t have the resources to force me. If you had anyone who could take me, I’d already be in the lab.” Why would _he_ be in the lab? Din’s gaze kept drifting back to it, to the three unconscious boys. The scientist was standing at the bedside of one of them, emptying the contents of a syringe into an IV line. Was it _hurting_ them? Surely they couldn’t feel anything when they weren’t awake, but what was this _doing_ to them? How could the galaxy have gone on above them, not knowing, not caring, about these forgotten children, created just to be put through _this?_

“Perhaps you will change your mind when you return with the next specimen. May I assume we have an agreement regarding the future specimens?”

“I’ll let you know.” There was still a barely-contained fury in Boba’s voice, and for a moment Din thought it was going to sweep him away, but – but he saw it, the slight change in the way Boba tilted his head, how he gave a slow, deliberate look towards the lab purely for Nivenkan’s benefit, saw Boba refusing to let his anger carry him away. Din felt a surge of pride, of loving him so much it hurt. “Any of them showing signs of Force sensitivity yet?” Boba asked.

“This is our most promising batch yet,” Nivenkan said. “We have detected early indicators of a high midi-chlorian count.”

“I see.” Boba paused. Nivenkan watched him, and there was a hunger in his red eyes that made Din nervous, made him want to take Boba far from this man and his burning eyes. In the lab, the researcher had moved methodically between all three beds, and his tray was filled with empty syringes, whatever had been in them now emptied into the bloodstreams of the three teenagers. Would they wake up alone in the lab? Were they used to this, or would they be afraid? Din ached to go to them.

“We will be receiving the original specimen tomorrow,” Nivenkan said, “I am confident that will accelerate our results. As of now, we can only manipulate the clones’ DNA, but we will begin microinjection trials and retroviral vectors with the specimen’s cells. The growth acceleration has posed some problems in our ability to manipulate the genetic structure, but with an unaltered clone, I am sure the potential would be unlimited.” He kept looking at Boba; Boba turned away.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Nivenkan beckoned to a security droid at the end of the hallway; it scuttled towards them, the only sound in the otherwise-silent corridor. Din wondered if it would be silent when the three boys in the lab woke up, if they would be alone, if they could whisper to each other or if a scientist would be there, terrifying them into obedient silence.

“Please escort our guests to the entrance,” Nivenkan told the droid, then nodded to Boba and Din. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to our next meeting and the services we can offer each other.”

Din took a last look into the lab; it was almost impossible to wrench himself away, to allow this to go on, leave behind three teenagers and possibly so many more. It felt like he was overlooking them the same way the rest of the galaxy was.

They were chaperoned back to the entrance of the facility, and bid a placid farewell by the security droid, which stood in the doorway and watched until they had boarded the Crest again. Din followed after Boba, wondered if Boba was already formulating a plan. This had suddenly felt so much bigger than Din, like this was part of something that had begun long before he’d ever found the child, and Boba was a telling sort of silent as he went straight to the cockpit.

“We’ll take off so they see us leave,” Boba told Cara, looking back as Din climbed the ladder to join them, “Get back to Cara’s ship. If Gideon is bringing the kid, we need someone scanning for him to give us warning.”

Something was wrong. Din had more questions than he could grasp, from Nivenkan’s interest in Boba to the cloning, but he held off on asking; there was something running beneath it, an undercurrent that threatened to rip them away. He still couldn’t put his finger on what was tipping him off, but there was an absence that spoke to him, a misalignment he could feel like he’d memorized the shape of how things should be.

“Did you guys find out anything?” Cara asked, as Din slid into the captain’s chair. His fingertips stuttered over the dials, he couldn’t stop looking over at Boba, made shaky for how every movement was preceded by an aborted impulse to reach for him.

“Cloning facility.” Boba’s voice was taut, but Din knew that to Cara, it would only read as flat.

“Cloning… of what? Of the kid?”

“No.”

Footsteps told Din that Boba was leaving the cockpit, taking the ladder below deck. Cara dropped into the passenger seat, leaned forward as Din brought the ship away from the facility, back in the direction of where they’d left her ship.

“Clones? They’re making a clone army again?” she asked, and Din shrugged a shoulder.

“I guess they want a Force-sensitive clone army. Still in the beginning stages, looks like.” He drummed his fingers against the panelboard. “They’re kids.”

“Din,” Cara said, very fragile.

They didn’t talk about the plan; maybe Cara could sense, too, that Din couldn’t formulate it until he knew more. She retreated to her ship, to keep an eye on the scanners and to get in touch with Leia to update her on the facility, and to request possible backup. Din detached the Crest from her ship and after a long moment spent looking down at Hishyim, he removed his helmet and ventured below deck.

Boba was sitting at the end of the bed; there was a distance in his eyes that had an echo of familiarity, like Din had only ever seen the beginnings of it. Din approached slowly, as though he’d be able to think of what to say if he just delayed for long enough. He leaned his shoulder against the compartment, watched Boba’s hands fidgeting.

“What does this mean?” Din asked, and he had to stop the rush of questions that threatened to follow, forced himself to wait.

“This time, they want the clone army to be Force-sensitive,” Boba said, his voice faraway. _This time, this time,_ Din didn’t know the right questions to ask, how to understand what had happened last time, how it had changed everything that came afterwards.

“Why not just clone someone already Force-sensitive, then?”

“Doesn’t work. Can have the same midi-chlorian count, and still not be Force-sensitive. Easier to use a clone if you’re going to manipulate their genes, so you can apply the same thing to all of them. Same growth alterations, same modifications. Same chip, too, if there is one.” He still wasn’t looking at Din, still didn’t sound like he was _here,_ didn’t sound like he could ever be close enough to touch. “They’re clones of my father. The army before, and the ones here.”

Din didn’t know what to say, how to understand everything it meant. _Of special interest,_ Nivenkan had said, and maybe this was why, because it was to revisit his own past, as though his father was still alive and the clone army was just beginning.

“It’s not the first time someone’s tried it. Don’t have to reinvent everything if they keep using the same genetic material. Kaminoans did it, too.” Sharp shake of his head, jerky gesture with one of his hands, and Din wanted to take his hand, hold it between his own.

“What happened to those clones?”

“Dead. The Empire had their remaining clones take out the new ones on Kamino. They were young, and still untrained. Died easily.”

The description struck something in Din, like was missing something again, like he was circling something dark and empty and hurting.

“Were you there?” he asked, and when Boba looked up, Din had his answer. Boba had been there. Boba had killed them. Din studied the lines of his face, the arch of his eyebrow and shape of his jaw. Did Boba look like his father? Was that why the clones had seemed familiar, because they resembled the man whose face Din had memorized? Din didn’t know what the Empire had said to him, to get him to kill the men who were essentially his own brothers; Din didn’t know what Boba had been through that would make him agree. “These ones won’t have to die,” Din said, “We’ll get to them first.”

The look that passed over Boba’s face wasn’t one he had been expecting – a recoiling misery, a confusion and a betrayal. He _didn’t want_ to save them. “They’re clones,” Boba said, voice hard. “Better to be dead than a clone.”

Din had found it.

The exact shape was clear to him, every detail suddenly thrown into stark relief – this, the original hurt, the thing that had forced its way into _everything._ The clones. Whatever it was, whatever it had done to Boba, it was because of the clones.

“The clones in the lab,” Din said; the word _clones_ felt clunky in his mouth, the wrong word for the three they had seen, the countless more they hadn’t. “All I could see when I looked at them – they’re kids, _werlaara._ Just foundlings that no one knows about. How could anyone come for them, when they weren’t taken from anyone? This – this _demagolka_ can’t have them.”

He didn’t know any equivalent word for it, but maybe it would remind Boba anyways, that where they came from, this was unforgivable, this was the worst anything could be. A _demagolka,_ because here, too, was a scientist experimenting on children, just like the one the term had been named after. This would be why Din set the galaxy ablaze, because there were children created just to be invisible foundlings, lost forever and never saved.

“Din,” Boba nearly whispered, and he looked so lost, so _alone,_ Din thought his own heart might be breaking, for Boba now and decades ago, a foundling who had never been found. Something had gone _wrong,_ to isolate him like this. He’d found the child, _their child,_ and wanted to save it – what had gone wrong, that he hadn’t wanted to save these children, too? He was so far from his almost-brothers that they didn’t mean to him what they should have, so far from his Mandalorian beginnings that he didn’t see every foundling as a miracle, because they’d been _found._

“ _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome,”_ Din murmured, and he knew, he knew he’d already told Boba he loved him and it hadn’t mattered, but – but this was still true. _We are one when together, we are one when parted._ How could it feel so true, the words that formed half of the traditional Mandalorian marriage vows, when Boba didn’t love him back? Din _needed_ Boba to feel that he wasn’t alone, he had to feel that Din would do anything for him, would always be with him. Boba wasn’t _alone_ in this, not anymore, never again. _We are one,_ Din needed him to know, because they were a clan, they were each other’s.

“I can’t,” Boba’s voice broke, and Din was back to confessing his feelings and reeling, back to how much it had _hurt-_

“I know,” Din forced out, but this time, this time Boba went on.

“I can’t speak Mando’a.” Boba’s voice was quiet, shattered, the words dragged out of him, and he wasn’t looking at Din. But – that made no sense, of course he could, they had been using Mando’a since Din found him, it had been _theirs_ since Din found him, that made _no sense._ “I’m not a Mandalorian, Din. The only word I ever knew was _dar’manda.”_

That was when it truly sunk in. _Dar’manda –_ not the word itself, though it meant everything, that the only word Boba knew was the word for an exile of the Mandalorian culture, one who had lost his heritage and so too his identity, his soul – but the way it sounded when he said it, foreign on his tongue, the emphasis in the wrong place, the letters shaped wrong. Boba couldn’t speak Mando’a. Boba _couldn’t speak Mando’a._ They didn’t share it, didn’t share anything, and everything Din had ever said to him, he hadn’t understood.

Boba had never said anything back, Din realized. Boba had only ever – ever _looked_ at him, silent, and Din had said all the most important things in Mando’a, had reached for him through the language he’d thought they’d shared, and Boba was somewhere else entirely, somewhere alone. _I love you,_ Din had told him, and Boba had tried to tell him _I can’t understand._

“I’m not like you. _You’re_ a Mandalorian, and I didn’t – I didn’t come from that. I didn’t come from _anything._ They exiled my father and he never wanted to go back, never raised me as one, and you look at me like I’m _something,_ but –

“ _Werlaara,”_ Din murmured, helpless. Boba looked like he might sob.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Legend,” Din said, and he reached to touch Boba with just his fingertips on Boba’s shoulder, didn’t know how much he could do. Boba didn’t know Din loved him. Boba had looked at him and said _I can’t_ like it broke him, not because he couldn’t accept it, but because he couldn’t understand, because it had made him feel more alone than before. When they were at the Resistance base, when they were with Ran’s team, when they were alone on Arvla-7 and Din promised to keep him safe. When they were on Tattooine. “ _Ner werlaara._ My legend.”

“I’m not,” Boba said, and he was shaking his head, jaw tight and eyes down. “I’m not. I’m not a Mandalorian, I’m not a legend, I’m not _anything,_ Din!” Suddenly, he was snarling, was on his feet and backing away a few steps, but for all the rise in anger, he looked closer to tears. “ _This_ is what I came from!” He pointed downwards, towards the planet, towards the facility, towards the clones he didn’t want to save. “This is my fucking legacy. I didn’t come from anything. I’m nothing but my name.”

“You’re –” Din started, quiet, because how could Boba be nothing, how could he ever, ever be nothing _,_ but Boba kept shaking his head no.

“I’m _nothing._ Everything I’ve done, I just wanted to – to _exist,_ to be something, so there would be a reason that I was the one that was my father’s son. He wanted an army and he wanted a son, and he treated me differently than them, but there was _no reason._ I could have just as easily been one of them, because that’s _all I am.”_

“Boba,” Din said, didn’t know how to reach for him anymore, floundering without the Mando’a he’d relied on to tell Boba everything, all the important things, all the softest and most heartfelt things. Did Boba know _him,_ without everything he’d said?

“I’m a _clone.”_ It was destroying him. Din could see it on Boba’s face, in his tortured voice – this was breaking him down from the inside, had begun a long time ago and never stopped. “I’m just a fucking clone, Din.”

How could he be _just_ anything? He was _everything._ Din looked at Boba, this legend of the galaxy, this clone who had tried desperately to differentiate himself at all costs, and Din finally reached for him, pulled Boba fully into his arms and held onto him.

Boba trembled beneath his hands, clung tightly and didn’t protest. How could Din ever let go, how had he ever gone this long without giving in and _holding_ him, how could he never have known that Boba would fit against him like this? It didn’t matter if Boba was a clone, if there had once been a thousand copies of him, if there were about to be a thousand more. There was no one who fit in Din’s arms quite like this. He couldn’t _grasp_ it, the idea of Boba being a clone so nebulous, so distant – how could it be more real than this?

“ _Werlaara,”_ he said, and Boba gave what sounded like a choked sob. “Being a clone – it’s not what you _are._ It’s just the circumstances of your birth. You were always someone. So is every single clone.”

He knew this wasn’t going to undo everything, knew that this had been building for decades and would have to be dismantled, carefully and methodically and by Boba himself. Din needed him to hear it, though, this thing that Boba had maybe never heard, never believed. He’d tried to tell Din _I don’t need to keep living_ when Din saved him, and _of course_ he’d tried to dive into the most dangerous bounty he could find as soon as he clawed his way out of the pit; while he was in there, he’d lost his sense of self, lost everything he’d _done,_ and had found he had nothing left. He’d said _I have nothing and am nothing, other than my greatest bounty_. 

There had always been a piece missing from his legend, and Din had found it, found the _reason_ he had become the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter. Boba had tried to set the galaxy on fire, because if he did something big enough, if enough people knew his name, he would be Boba Fett first, and a clone second.

“We have to save them,” Din murmured against Boba’s hair, “Like you should have been saved.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say again that i am ABSOLUTELY LOVING all of your comments, i love you all so much, i would write whole novels for you because you're all so wonderful and encouraging!!! :)))

On Nevarro, when Din had found Boba waiting for him outside the Guild, their plan to take the child back had felt easy, requiring little discussion. He hadn’t felt the need to _convince_ Boba; Boba had already been waiting for him, had realized even before Din that the child was theirs, needed to be with them.

This felt different. This was Din explaining his plan and Boba looking at him like it was incomprehensible. Din had been ready to send a message to Cara and ask her to contact the New Republic with their requests, was sitting in the captain’s chair with his hand over the button to begin a recording, but Boba was still _looking_ at him, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. He’d taken off his armor once getting back to the Crest – all of it, left every piece downstairs, and Din felt guilty, for looking at him and picturing him the same age as the clones. He couldn’t stop seeing Boba as young as them and just as alone.

“The longer we take,” Boba said, “the more we risk not getting the kid at all. We need to go in, go right to the kid, and get the fuck out.”

“I can’t do that.” Din had seen the kids in the lab, and they still didn’t know how many others there were. They were exactly like the child, just more children that had fallen into the Empire’s endless void of a grip. He couldn’t rescue one and abandon all the rest, even if the one was already theirs. No one else was coming for them.

Finding out Boba was a clone – it only made Din more certain. It had wrenched his heart out of his chest, to discover that Boba had been alone since his father’s death, he had wondered _how,_ how there had been _no one_ left to take Boba in. He suspected now that it was because Boba had been afraid that if he allowed anyone close, they would group him in with the other clones, send him for training with them. Boba had thought that truly becoming one of them would be worse than being alone in the galaxy.

“They’re probably not all kids,” Boba added, “Sounds like they updated the aging acceleration. Probably grow to teenagers quicker now, and then progress normally.” As though, if Din had found Boba alone at twenty, at twenty-five, he wouldn’t have wanted to save him. As though Din hadn’t found Boba at forty-something, broken and alone and still wanting to be found, still hurt that he hadn’t been.

Din sighed, ran a hand through his hair and had to stop looking at Boba, because he thought his heart might break. Everything Boba said about the clones made Din understand him more, an unflinching, painfully clear view of how Boba saw himself as _nothing._ Of course he’d been a riot of violence and ruthlessness, of course he’d been so desperate to return to glory the moment he’d escaped Tatooine; of course he didn’t understand this, because if he could see the clones as real people, he wouldn’t have ended up hurting like _this._ Much as he fought to deny it, there was a deep part of himself that knew he was the same as them, and that was it, that was everything, because Boba couldn’t see the clones as real people but knew, _knew,_ he was one of them.

“Okay,” Boba said, voice quiet. Din lifted his head, stared at Boba in surprise. Boba offered no explanation, just sank into the passenger seat and dropped his head back to the cushion. Din didn’t press.

He contacted Cara, explained what he wanted to do; she promised to contact the New Republic and continue to keep watch for Gideon, arriving sometime the next day with the child. Din was sure he’d be delivering the child personally.

“What would be taking him so long to get here?” Din asked aloud, after he’d ended the call with Cara.

“Remember that Admiral I was hired to kill?” Boba asked, voice sounding tired. “I’d bet anything Gideon just killed that guy himself.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t hire good enough help,” Boba gave a humorless snort. “The Admiral is the one that heard about the child first. He wanted it killed immediately, thinks a Force-sensitive army is a mistake because they would be too powerful to control. Gideon didn’t want him influencing anyone and now that he’s finally got the kid, he won’t want any loose ends that could stop his plan.”

His insight into the Empire was as unsettling as ever; Din didn’t doubt him for a moment, just like when Boba had told him the precise moments to watch out for Karga’s betrayal. He just hated that Boba had needed to cultivate such instincts.

“People used to recognize me,” Boba mumbled, and Din turned to him, but Boba was looking out the viewscreen. “Not by name. That’s why I started wearing the armor all the time, but then people actually though I was a Mandalorian.”

“I always thought you were,” Din admitted, helplessly guilty. Boba had been a Mandalorian, to him – had been a _by blood_ Mandalorian. He still thought Boba was.

“They exiled my father for everything he did, and they didn’t want me, either. No one cares who your father was, unless it was Jango Fett and you’re his fucking clone and not his son.”

The familiar phrase made Din’s heart twist. _No one cares who your father was, only the father you’ll be._ He’d heard it many times before, never imagined it could be corrupted to exclude Boba, to see him _as_ his father.

“The whole helmet thing?” Boba waved vaguely towards Din’s helmet without looking towards where it sat at the corner of the console, “They don’t _have_ to do that. You know how you said you had to learn how to feel important, without a name or a face of your own, because they don’t let you have that? I never got a fucking choice.”

It had always felt noble, to Din. To learn to define himself by his own actions. Difficult, but a worthy pursuit. It had been a difficult balance to learn, but – but he’d still _had_ those things. His path had been a struggle to express himself; Boba’s had been a fight to _have_ a self.

He remembered the way Boba had flinched and recoiled, when Leia said _I always wondered what you guys look like._ How Xi’an had said _something like you_ as a throwaway insult and he’d taken it straight to heart. The way he’d snarled at Cara for staring at him after he’d taken off his helmet, her oblivious curiosity too reminiscent of the recognition he was used to. The way he’d smiled when Din had said _I like your face,_ radiant for the first time.

Din rose from his seat, suddenly finding their positions too similar to last time, and dropped to one knee between Boba’s spread legs, Boba watching his every movement as he did. Din’s heart was racing already, but he let himself touch Boba, set a hand on Boba’s thigh, felt the muscle twitch beneath his palm. It was like once he’d had Boba in his arms, just the one single time, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out anymore. He _knew_ how it felt to hold Boba.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you couldn’t understand me,” Din said. “It always seemed like you understood what I was trying to say.”

“I got the tone,” Boba said, with a tiny shrug, though the way he watched Din carried none of its casualness. He was biting his bottom lip, and when Din ran his thumb in small circles on Boba’s leg, Boba twitched in response. Din had never been quite _this close_ to him, not like this, and it set something burning inside of him, a heat that kept rising. Everything he’d tried to say to Boba, everything he’d meant so deeply that he’d had to use Mando’a to say it, Boba didn’t _know._

“On Arvala-7, when you told me about the Sarlacc, I told you I’d never let that happen to you again. I’ve told you that I have your back, and that you’re not alone, because we’re one.” Din swallowed hard. “I told you that I love you.”

Boba’s eyes widened in shock, and there was a long moment where he was silent, but it was different, so different, than last time. There was an open desperation on his face that floored Din, made him wonder if he’d been missing this, if all along, this had been part of the way Boba looked at him, _wanting_ him.

“I’m not –” Boba said, another unfinished plea, but this time, Din knew what he was trying to say.

“I _know_ who you are,” he interrupted, felt it deeply, resonating from somewhere instinctual. He could barely remember how it felt, to look at Boba and see only the legend, and couldn’t _this_ be a legend, because the way Din felt was so profound, so inevitable. “ _Ner werlaara,_ you are everything.”

Din leaned closer, placed a hand on the back of Boba’s neck and pulled him in; when Din finally kissed him, it was met with a whimper and a hitching breath like a sob. How had Din lived this long, without kissing him? Without knowing that Boba would reach for him, would make the softest sounds and kiss Din back like he was dying for it?

“Please, please,” Boba panted the words against Din’s lips, like he might fall apart if Din let go of him, like he wanted as much as he could get because he wasn’t sure it was his to keep. As if Din could ever be anything but his, and all Din wanted to do was kiss him until Boba felt like it was something that had always belonged to him. Everything Din felt for him, realizing it was always a discovery that it was already his, that this was already where they lived – Din just kept learning the words far later, kissing Boba long after he’d begun wanting to, admitted to loving him an eternity after it begun.

“Come with me.” He’d have assumed he’d be more nervous, but it was like Boba seeing his face for the first time, a recognition of the unfamiliar born of everything that had led up to it. He could lead Boba downstairs by the hand, could take off armor and climb onto the bed after him without shaking apart, because how could he be afraid? He already knew every inch of Boba without ever having to see it all. Everything with him was like looking around and realizing he was already home, that at some point, his surroundings had become familiar, that he’d followed an instinctual map and found himself where he was supposed to be. He’d been in love with Boba long before realizing it, had ached to touch him long before understanding what he wanted to do.

“Have you always wanted me to do this?” Din asked, because he couldn’t pinpoint a moment when Boba’s behavior towards him had changed. Boba laughed, voice soft and breathless.

“When you found me on Mustafar,” he said, and even in the dim light, Din could see the blush spreading across his face. “And picked me up? After that, all I could think about was your hands on me. You were so – so gentle.” He said it with such reverence, _gentle._

Din ran his hand along Boba’s side, cupped his hip; Boba sighed at his touch, and it seemed impossible that Din hadn’t done this every time they slept beside each other, every time Boba was this close. Boba had wanted this since the _beginning._ The more Din touched Boba, the more he _needed_ to, wanted to make up for all the times Boba had wanted him to, every time Din had touched him only for a brief moment that should have been so much longer.

He’d always known that when he eventually became this close to someone, helmetless and bare, it would be a man. Everything about Boba confirmed it, that this, this was what made Din’s heart race, what made him fill with desire – Boba’s hands on Din’s chest, the deepness to his moans, the sheer size of him, the coiled strength in every muscle, and the planes of his back, the width of his shoulders. The way he dissolved into a breathy, panting plea, when Din pushed his thigh between Boba’s legs and felt the way Boba clung to him, hips moving in a desperate rhythm.

“ _Din,_ please,” he kept whimpering, as though Din wouldn’t give him anything, anything at all. He pushed the pleas into Din’s mouth when Din kissed him, licking into Boba’s mouth.

“That’s good,” Din murmured, to a tiny, needy sob from Boba. “ _Werlaara,_ you’re so good.” Din kissed him harder, guiding his hips with a hand at the small of Boba’s back until Boba gave a strangled sound, hips stuttering.

“I want to –” Boba whispered then, and all Din could do was nod, because – anything, _anything._ He groaned when Boba’s hand closed around him, this apparently what Boba had wanted, to make Din fall apart beneath his touch. It was unlike anything Din had ever felt – someone else’s hands on him, the feeling heady and too-much-not-enough somehow all the time.

Eventually, Din wanted to do everything, to kiss every inch of Boba, to take his time and make Boba fall apart, tell him how perfect he was, how it was the most beautiful thing Din had ever seen, but for now, this was all he could handle without falling apart. This was enough, was Boba gathered in his arms, panting against Din’s collarbone, Din’s knee still between Boba’s thighs.

“I never knew what to do,” Boba said, his voice a quiet, broken thing, “I love you so fucking much. I never wanted to deserve something so badly.”

Din could remember touching him for the first time, cleaning the blood from Boba’s face and being awe-struck by the tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose, the impossible realness he’d suddenly had, a figure who stepped out of a legend so he could fall apart in Din’s arms. Din wouldn’t let him go back; Boba didn’t belong to the galaxy, he was _Din’s_ , had loved Din since the very beginning, when Din had been willing to die for him without understanding why. It was impossible that even a clone of him could be the same.

Din hated the plan, but he couldn’t find any way around it. Hated it, wanted to protect Boba from it, but they were short on time and short on options, and Din _couldn’t_ leave the clones behind. He wanted their child back, but how could he walk away with only one foundling of the many he’d found?

Getting into the facility was easy. They didn’t have the resources to be heavily guarded, and the living quarters at the back were protected only by an easily hacked security system and a handful of security droids. They couldn’t do anything until Gideon arrived, but had to be ready when he did, and when Din had said _I’ll get into the labs to intercept the child, you’ll go to the clones so we can get them out,_ Boba had nodded along in silence but now, at the moment where they were supposed to split up, he hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Din said softly, but he could read Boba’s terrified reluctance in every tiny movement. Din looked around the corner that would lead to the labs, but it was still deserted, everything quiet in the early morning.

“You don’t understand,” Boba said, his breathing shallow, “They won’t trust me. I’m not one of them. I mean, I _am –”_ The word came out strangled. “Oh, shit,” he was sounding panicked, but Din recognized it this time. There wasn’t anyone coming for them, but everything was closing in on Boba, a threat Din couldn’t see, and the weight of how terribly Din had miscalculated this hit him all at once.

“ _Werlaara,_ it’s okay,” Din should have known, what the fuck had he been thinking, assuming he could send Boba in alone, he just wanted to get in and out as soon as possible, but Boba couldn’t _do_ this. Boba couldn’t do absolutely _everything,_ Din had to stop assuming like everyone else did, that Boba would emerge unscathed, but he was fucking doing it again. He set his hands on Boba’s shoulders, felt Boba trembling. “Listen to me, okay? I’m here. I’m with you. We’re alright.” He tipped his helmet to Boba’s, wished desperately he could touch more of him. “I’m sorry. You’re not going alone.”

“Can’t do fucking anything anymore,” Boba choked out, “This never – it would never –” How many times could Din’s heart break for him – Boba, furious with himself for having panic attacks on the job as though it had ever involved anything like this before, facing every one of his deepest insecurities all at once, with his own child at stake. “I can do it,” he said, voice strained, “Just – please stay. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Din promised.

They hadn’t had time to study the schedule of the facility, but it was so early in the morning that the sun hadn’t yet risen; Din was relieved to see that the hall leading to the clones’ quarters were deserted. They had only the scan of the building from above, but Din was sure that the largest room was where the sleeping pods would be kept. He’d had Cara stay in the ship above, to continually scan for approaching ships so they could have as early a warning as possible, though nothing felt early enough and Din felt constantly on edge, waiting for the news, the inevitable feeling that they didn’t have enough time.

“Here,” Din stopped before a keypad, and Boba hovered behind him as he pried it off the wall, started disconnecting wires. The door slid open. “Come on.”

The large room was dim, with narrower aisles between rows of pull-out bunks than Din had been expecting. Like everything about the facility, it seemed to have been made larger than needed, the specter of its future capacity looming overhead.

Despite the early hour, Din could see further down the aisle that three bunks were pulled out, two figures sitting up on the nearer two beds. 

“Hey,” Din called over, soft. The nearer whipped towards him. “It’s alright.” Din approached slowly. He didn’t hear spurs behind him, but didn’t turn back to draw Boba forward. He would come at his own pace, though Din wished he could be touching Boba, even just to hold his hand.

The three who were awake were very young – were they the same who had been in the lab? Din hadn’t gotten a close enough look to be able to tell.

“Who’re you?” The guarded voice made Din’s breathing stutter. He sounded like – like Boba. A much younger version, but Din could _recognize_ his voice.

“We’re here to help you guys.” Din stopped beside the nearest bunk. The second child was leaning over the third bunk, glanced over his shoulder at Din only briefly. Both of them looked so much like Boba that it _hurt._ The same exact eyes, the same freckles. Their hair was much shorter and they were so much younger, but it was enough to give Din pause as he looked between them, and over to the third bed. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

He knew, even before the words left his mouth, that the child wasn’t. He lay motionless in the bed.

“We had part two last night,” the first child said, his voice hard and oh, _oh,_ they were the children Din had seen in the lab after all. They had been in three of the four cots, and Din’s sinking heart told him what had happened to the fourth sometime before, what was happening to the third.

“What’s your name?” Din asked, and the child blinked at him for a few moments. “Hax,” he said, pointed to the teenager in the bed beside his, “That’s Cade, and Tellan.”

Din approached the third bed slowly, crouched down. He studied Tellan, who slept motionlessly, and when Din lifted his head, found Cade staring at him.

“He’s not going to be okay,” Cade whispered, eyes welled with tears. “But at least he won’t have to do part three.”

“I’m sorry.” Din reached to cover Cade’s hand with his own, squeezed gently. He touched Tellan’s cheek, the child’s skin cold beneath his palm. If they’d come a day sooner – if they’d somehow known about this place just a day earlier – but what about the clones that had died the day before that? Were these children always a group of four, or had they once been five? Six? Nothing seemed early enough.

“Why are you guys here?” Cade asked, rubbed his eyes with his fist. “Who are you?”

“The Empire took our child,” Din explained, “We came to get it back, but we didn’t know about all of you guys. No one does, this is a secret facility. We’re going to try and get you all out.”

“How many of you are there?” Boba’s voice sounded so much like theirs; Din wondered if they could hear it as easily as he could. Boba had come closer, though he still kept his distance.

“Forty-three,” Hax said. Boba looked up at the rows of bunks, down the aisle.

“That’s not very many.” How many had been in the original army? How many had been at the second Kamino-led facility?

“Manageable number,” Din said to Boba, so he would stop seeing the empty bunks, all the clones there could be, if they didn’t shut this down. “Listen, You guys have to help us, okay? We need everyone to know the plan.”

“How do we know it’s okay?” Cade asked. He fidgeted with the thin blanket between his fingers, and the movement reminded Din of Boba, though the way he asked the question couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Asking Din if he could be trusted, a guardedness overlapped by an unwalled honesty, it was nothing like Boba at all. “What if we get split up?” The defensive look on his face made something in Din’s chest twist painfully.

“I know it’s hard to trust someone you don’t know,” Din said softly. “I understand. When I was a kid, my village was attacked, and I was saved by strangers. It’s scary, even though you’re being saved, because you don’t know what you’re going _to._ It’s as unknown as the attack was. _”_

He didn’t want them to be afraid, didn’t want this to be another thing that hurt them – he looked helplessly to Boba, didn’t know how to convince them. The older men had probably already been used as Storm Troopers and had seen there was more out there, would have grown to hate the facility specifically after outgrowing the thought that this was all there could be.

“It’s okay,” Boba said, though he didn’t sound okay, sounded like he might fall apart. He reached up and unlatched his helmet, took it off. Din saw Cade and Hax flinch in surprise, their eyes widening in shock, in curiosity, in recognition. They didn’t look like they would hate him, like Boba had thought.

“You’re one of us?” Cade asked, voice hushed. Boba bit his lip, a look of absolute misery crossing his face. Cade looked from Boba to Din, back again. “We have more brothers?”

“Just him,” Din said softly. He wondered how old the oldest clones here were – the facility couldn’t be very old, he would bet, no more than a few years. So then, early twenties, maybe? And here was Boba, proof that there had been other clones a long time before this. 

“Are you… the original one?” Hax asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Cade’s head tilted as though to echo the question, and Boba’s shoulders slumped.

“No.” He gave Din a look that was helpless, hurting. “Just a clone.” He put his helmet back on, but the two teenagers continued to stare at him. “Get everyone else up,” Boba directed, “We sent for a transport ship, and when Gideon gets here, we’ll kill him and get you guys out.” It sounded easy, when he put it like that. Nevarro had also sounded easy, sounded predictable.

“Who’s Gideon?” Cade asked. 

“He’s the one doing all this, making the Force-sensitive clone army,” Boba said, and Cade’s face went dark. “I’ll stay with them,” Boba told Din, though Din could hear how he had to force himself to say it, “We’ll tell the other clones, see if we can get them armed, and you go intercept him at the labs.”

“They’re coming to take us back to the lab,” Hax added, “As soon as we’re supposed to wake up.”

“Probably means Gideon will have brought the child by then,” Din said, “When is that?”

“I don’t know, maybe an hour?” Hax said. Despite being identical to Cade and Tellan, Din couldn’t see how anyone could ever think the clones weren’t individuals. Everything about them was unique; Cade’s guarded fear was unlike Hax’s forward-looking curiosity, his head tilts having a different angle, used more to show confusion than to ask a question the way Cade did.

“We should get going,” Boba said, and Din nodded. He wanted to ask Boba if he was okay, if he sure, but could see from the set of Boba’s shoulders that he didn’t want to give in at the first opportunity to escape, wanted to get through this. Hax slid off his bunk, started climbing the ladder towards the top row of bunks. Din looked back down at Tellan, the child still completely unmoving, his breathing shallow. From the way Cade looked at him, a broken knowing on his face, Din knew there wasn’t enough time to do anything, that this was a progression Cade knew and it was so far along that he wasn’t begging Din to do something, that even a last-hour rescuer wasn’t enough. Din stroked Tellan’s hair, and it hurt to look at him, this child they’d been too late to save.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hoped Tellan could still hear him. “I’ll do everything I can to save your brothers, I promise. I’m sorry.”

Cade watched Din as he stood, and it shook Din to his core, to see this face so much like Boba’s with expressions Boba had never used, Cade biting the inside of his cheek and sniffling, a look on his face that was somehow both guarded and so open that it ripped Din apart.

“Don’t let them take us for part three,” he whispered. “Hax is still okay. It might work on him this time.”

“What about you?” Din asked and Cade’s eyes welled with tears again. “You’re going to be okay,” Din said, although he didn’t know if he could promise that, but he would kill for it, would die for it, and that had to matter.

On the way out, Din stopped where Boba lingered by the door to keep watch, and pulled Boba into his arms. Boba gave a surprised little sound, held onto Din tightly.

“I need every single one of them to be okay,” Din said, “If there’s anyone who can do something like this, it’s you.” He needed Boba to be a legend for them, needed him to find the parts of himself that had made what he did _possible,_ because in the middle of the chaos he’d wrought was _him,_ was a man whose determination forced things into existence, who had never learned to wield his power for good but oh, if he had, if he had –

“They trust me,” Boba said, hoarse. “Because – I’m one of them. They see themselves in me.”

“All that means,” Din said, tilted his helmet to Boba’s, “Is that you feel like home to them. It’s not a bad thing.”

Hadn’t Din done the same thing, anyways? He’d thought he’d seen something of himself in this legend all the way across the galaxy, had sought to find his own answer about being a Mandalorian in the one who had departed from the path he’d been born to. People sought places that felt like home, Din thought, and the first time he’d touched Boba had been with such gentleness that it had made him see himself as redeemable for the first time.

 _I never wanted to deserve something so badly,_ he’d said, as though Din hadn’t loved him from the very beginning, when he was a legend, when he was broken, when he was already, always, enough _._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with lots of thanks to PaxDuane for helping me sort through the rest of the plot, and bugshuffle for making the clones EVEN MORE SAD. all excellent things.

Din hated to leave Boba behind. He’d probably always feel that way, he thought, as he crept through quiet corridors and constantly scanned for heat signatures. It was like leaving part of his heart outside of his body, having to walk away from it; it was a cracked-open vulnerability he’d never felt before meeting Boba, and it made Din nearly frantic with the need to return to him, made him think of the time Boba had found him in the prison ship, the way he’d grabbed for Din and kept saying Din’s name like he’d thought he’d never get to again – Since the beginning, Boba had said, and how could something be both already-familiar and extraordinary at the same time?

He encountered only two security droids on his way to the labs, dismantled each and stuffed them into the same closet before making his way to the floor that housed the medical department. There were more personnel in this area, and Din had to keep stopping, wait for scientists and lab techs to move past before he could keep going. Were they all willing workers, or were they like Pershing, and here against their will? How would they be able to tell, how could they dismantle a facility without knowing who was liable to continue the operation if they weren’t stopped and who needed to be returned home safe? And this – he suspected this had never been part of Boba’s vast and complicated legacy, that he’d never had to discern who to save and who could be swept away in the collateral damage.

As difficult as Boba’s dealings with the hugely overarching Empire had been, Din thought that this – this was worse, this was harder. It wasn’t surprising, that even Boba was struggling under the pressure, to be back in his old life but as a very different person, trying to get through familiarly insurmountable obstacles but without the casualties he’d have left before. And to be _here –_ this product of Boba’s nightmares, a cloning facility rising out of the fog as if built specifically to bring him back to his own beginnings, to the source of what plagued him, what had broken him. Din didn’t have to wonder how Boba would have taken this, if he’d been faced with it before now, before trying to become something different – Boba _had_ encountered a cloning facility before. He’d destroyed it, and the thought of the clones there dying pained Din to his core, but this time – this time seemed different. _Can’t do fucking anything anymore,_ Boba had said, furious with himself for the panic attacks he now lived with, but Din thought – maybe it wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Boba couldn’t do everything he’d done before, because something had broken through, left him vulnerable in a way that hurt him, but also allowed for him to heal. He was _scared_ now, and much as Boba hated falling apart, as ashamed as he seemed of being incapacitated by the prospect of going underground or encountering the clones, Din couldn’t help but think it was a good sign. Boba wouldn’t have felt anything, before.

Din slipped into the office across the hall from Nivenkan’s; surely, the child would be brought straight to him, and then they could – Din wished he had a clearer view of what would happen next. Boba would handle telling the forty-three clones – forty-two, any minute now, Din realized, and he had to stop to catch his breath, back against the wall beside the door. Forty-two, because they’d probably already lost Tellan, because even if Din had run straight back to the ship and brought every bacta spray he could find, it would have been too late, too much damage to reverse. Forty-two, because the longer this took, the fewer there would be, and every single loss was going to destroy Din, every foundling they didn’t save, hadn’t saved. He would burn this facility to the ground before he let them take Cade and Hax back for the third part of their trials.

He retrieved his comlink, scanned for nearby heat signatures before calling for Cara. She responded to the signal immediately, and her voice was surprisingly comforting.

“No sign of him yet,” Cara reported. “How are you guys doing?”

“One of the kids died,” Din said, couldn’t think past that, “We were too late for him. And – the fourth one, from - I don't know when. We never even met him.”

“Oh,” Cara said, and her voice was small, a sigh of tragedy. “Poor kids. I’m sorry, Din.” She paused. “How’s Fett?”

“What?” Din must have misheard her.

“I talked to Leia, and she said, you know. The last clone army was clones of his dad. And… this is another clone army, so… is he freaking out, or what?”

“A little.” Din hesitated. “It’s… these clones are the same. They used the same genetic material.”

“Well, shit. And he’s, uh… alright with that? Leia said that he’s, uh. Well. He’s, um.”

“I know,” Din said, and Cara blew out a breath.

“Okay, well then, what the _fuck?_ He’s a rogue clone? And now there’s like fifty more of him? Is he losing it? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m kind of worried.”

“Because you think he’ll –”

“Din, as weird as it sounds, I’m actually not worried he’s going to fly off the handle, I’m just worried he’s upset. Because he’s _yours,_ so… I don’t know!”

“I think he’s okay. As okay as he can be, anyways.” Din was touched, that Cara worried about Boba on his behalf. “I, uh.” Din tilted his head back against the wall. “Told him I love him.”

“I thought you did that already.”

“He didn’t – it was in Mando’a, and he can’t, um. Speak that.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Cara sounded like she was trying very hard not to laugh. Din scowled. “You told him… in a language he couldn’t speak… I can’t handle you, Din.”

“Yeah, well.” He could feel his face heating, “This time, he got it.”

“Using a language he understands was a good tactical decision.” Cara was definitely laughing, practically wheezing the words.

“Don’t you want to know what he said about it?” Din asked defensively, and Cara snorted.

“Din, I _know_ what he said! That’s why it was so confusing last time! I’ve _seen_ him with you. Remember when you guys came to get me on Sorgan? And he said that he would die for the kid, but that he wanted to be able to do more than that? He didn’t want leaving to be the best thing he had to offer?”

“Yeah?” Din remembered the conversation, but at the time, he’d been more concerned about Boba, about his clear anxiety over showing his face and asking Cara for help.

“He said ‘I don’t want leaving to be the best thing I can do for them.’”

“So?”

“For the kid, and for _you._ That was when I got it. That was why the worst guy in the galaxy had suddenly changed. He wanted to be better for the kid, and for you. He was already in love with you.”

“Huh.” Din felt almost dizzy with the realization, because it kept appearing, reminders that Boba had loved him since the beginning. Could this be it, the reason Boba had changed? Boba had lost his grasp on his identity while in the Sarlacc pit, but that had never explained why he wouldn’t continue on the same path, why he wouldn’t keep trying to find himself the same way he always had.

He’d met Din. He’d fallen in love with Din, and wanted to be _better,_ for him. The legendary bounty hunter had fallen in love and the galaxy would never be the same for it.

“Hey,” Cara said, voice suddenly grave, “You’ve got an incoming ship. Gotta be Gideon.”

“Right.” Din took a breath, tried to focus. “Okay. How far out is the Resistance?”

“Pretty close. They’d have come sooner, but there was some huge ordeal on another planet, with that Admiral they were trying to find? Found the guy dead, but captured what was left of his forces. Their plan is to round up the scientists for interrogation, and take the clones in a transport ship into hiding. You get into position, and I’ll notify Fett that Gideon’s incoming. They’ve got your back,” Cara said, softer. “Don’t worry. You’ll get help.”

Maybe this, this was how they were supposed to deal with something this huge and complicated and interwoven – with help, with a team, with people who could help them figure out which scientists were victims and which were perpetrators, with hiding places for the clones and people they could trust. Of course it had destroyed Boba, to try and handle such a complicated web alone, and this would be how they prevented that from happening again.

“Thank you,” Din breathed. “Cara, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Shut up,” Cara said, “You’d fall apart, stupid, just like I would without you. Go save the kids.”

The key would be taking out Gideon, Din knew. Gideon was operating under the assumption that the facility was secret, and would have to call in for backup; a small, up-close kill was the only way to ensure that he didn’t have the chance to notify anyone and to make absolutely sure they got the child back. Gideon was operating as though we were the arm of the Empire, and not the head – showing up in person, concerning himself with a detail as small as the child when the Empire clearly had the resources to build and develop its own army. There would be forces he could call upon, whatever was getting the Empire by until the clones were a full army, but Din thought that maybe – maybe taking him out would be enough to shut down this arm for good.

Heat-scanning told Din when several figures approached from down the hallway; when they passed the office where he hid, he reopened the door and leaned around the doorframe. It was worse than Gideon, though – it was a tech leading two clones back into the lab. It was them, it had to be them; even from down the hallway, Din could tell that it was Hax and Cade, because Hax was still trying to peek into windows they passed, because Cade had his head down but kept checking to make sure Hax was still right beside him.

Din had to wait until Gideon was closer. Had to, but – but the two boys were being led into the lab, the tech was setting up IV’s at their bedsides, and both of them were looking at the empty third bed. A quick scan told Din that Nivenkan’s office was empty, so he ducked around the corner, waited until the tech’s back was turned, and after a brief pause to dismantle the security system, slipped into Nivenkan’s office.

There was a main lab between the office and the room where Hax and Cade were being kept; Din was willing to bet that would be where the child was taken first. His viewscreen told him when several figures began moving in his direction – a whole group of them, and this, surely, would be Gideon. He would have brought whichever Stormtroopers were left, and there were more than Din had been expecting, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Except – suddenly, the idea of killing Stormtroopers felt different, felt wrong, because was it really that different, if they’d been born in a lab to be a Clonetrooper or stolen from their home planet to be a Stormtrooper? Was anyone at that level to blame for what the Empire was doing? Din exhaled a frustrated breath, tried to strategize again. Could they get out without killing any Stormtroopers? And what about the ones he’d killed back on Nevarro – who was he, to decide whether they were acting out of malice or just following unclear instructions out of fear for their lives?

The heat signatures that were presumably the Stormtroopers remained in the hallway while the others went into the lab. Din drew his blaster, slid the office door back open, but before he could step outside, an alarm began wailing. Had he done that?

“Fett got the clones out,” Cara’s voice came through the comlink quietly. “In his usual fashion, I see. He’s coming to you.”

“They call for backup yet?”

“Not that I can see.” Wouldn’t they be fighting harder, to save their army from this? Except – they weren’t an army yet. They weren’t useful yet. That was why, Din realized, that was why the reduced security, the lack of much more than a security system and some droids. The clones weren’t _useful_ yet. They were so replaceable, the Empire wasn’t worried about anything happening to them, because at this stage, the resources it would take to defend the clones were more valuable than the clones themselves. They wouldn’t waste anything on the clones, except –

Except the only ones who had shown promise, and immediately, Din was through the door, ducking the barrage of blaster fire from the startled Stormtroopers, and holding his blaster towards the lab tech.

“Step back,” Din said, tried to keep his voice even, although the man was holding a syringe in one hand, and Hax’s IV line in the other. “No one has to get hurt.”

“Hey!” Boba’s voice, roaring from the other room – the lab, maybe. “Get away from the kid.”

“I was just explaining to Nivenkan about the chips the original clones had,” Gideon said, voice smooth and unbothered. “And the need to reinstate the protocol. It was a mistake to let Jango convince the lab you didn’t need one.”

Din didn’t know what chips they were talking about, but from Boba’s ensuing silence, he knew it would have been something Boba had been thinking about for decades. Din pointed the tech towards the door, away from the kids, and he shuffled over obediently.

“You guys okay?” Din asked, to murmured affirmatives from the two boys.

“What now?” one whispered from behind him; Hax, Din was sure of it.

“In the process of figuring it out.” They had to get past the Stormtroopers and Gideon, with the kid, Cade, and Hax, the Empire’s three most valuable assets, without Gideon calling for backup, because this – this, the Empire would expend everything on.

Din wouldn’t have been afraid at the sight of Stormtroopers with guns drawn, if not for the scurry of movement behind him, the two teenagers who were hiding behind him. The troopers were more focused on the other room, at least, only two holding the door to the lab and awaiting instructions.

“Don’t shoot him,” Nivenkan, insistent. “An unaltered clone would greatly accelerate my research. Capture him.”

The ensuing chaos of breaking glass and fighting made Din itch to run over, but – but the two kids, he couldn’t leave them, couldn’t get past the Stormtroopers without risking them. Boba was fighting back, but Din knew it, from the way his “ _hey!”_ turned feral and furious, that they had him pinned.

“Is he okay?” Cade whispered.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Din said, “he – he’s survived a lot.” One of the Stormtroopers looked towards the other room, and Din took the opportunity to shoot him – just the hand holding his blaster, and the trooper yowled and jerked, but dropped his weapon. From there, Din could shoulder his way through the door, grab the other trooper and heave him into the open office, grab the first one off the floor and throw him in afterwards, shut the door after them and shoot the control panel until it sparked angrily. Din held out a hand to keep Cade and Hax from coming into the hallway, and looked towards the lab.

Finally – finally, he saw the child. Impossibly, incredibly tiny, in Nivenkan’s grasp where it didn’t belong, but it was alive, it was _here,_ and Din’s heart ached at the sight. It wasn’t over – Boba was being held down by five troopers that must have come from the other entrance, Gideon looked at Din without an ounce of concern on his face, but – but the child was here, it was alive, it was _theirs,_ and whatever else their legacy was, it was one of survival.

“I will let you leave,” Gideon said, unerringly calm. He held a blaster, raised it towards Din almost as an afterthought. “You can even take the child, which I think is a very generous offer.”

“Very,” Din ground out. “How considerate.”

“You sound like Fett, now. He was never pleasant to negotiate with, either.” He looked toward Boba, who still struggled violently against the Stormtroopers, but there were so many of them. “It’s your choice.”

Din was trying to calculate how quickly he could shoot Gideon and then Nivenkan, what the troopers would do to Boba in the meantime, how to get the child from them but also keep the Stormtroopers from shooting him, from taking the other two kids – and Boba suddenly stopped, stopped trying to tear out of their grip and went still.

“Din,” he called, so soft, pleading, and Din knew immediately what he wanted. He wanted Din to leave him. He wanted Din to take their child and escape, but Din _couldn’t leave him._ Din loved him, _loved him_ , and leaving Boba here, at a cloning lab, Din thought his heart had been torn out of his chest for how badly it hurt. There had to be another way because this, this wasn’t survivable, leaving Boba behind, leaving Cade and Hax, Din _couldn’t._

“Don’t leave!” The voice made Din flinch, because it was – it was Boba, young and pleading not to be left alone – it was Cade. It was Cade, clinging to the doorway, looking at Din with huge, familiar eyes. “They’ll – they’ll do the same thing to him –”

But it was just Din, he was _one man_ and Gideon could shoot him immediately, and then what? Who would save Boba, save the child and the two boys who were watching Din like they were sure their miracle rescue was about to fail? The Stormtroopers in the office were hammering on the door and it was denting outward, Nivenkan had the child, Gideon was reaching for his comlink and overhead, sirens kept screaming.

“Come in,” Gideon was saying into his comlink, blaster still pointed at Din.

“Take him to Lab B,” Nivenkan gestured to the Stormtroopers, and –

“ _No!”_ Screaming, anguished and desperate, and Cade was throwing himself through the doorway and before Din could grab him – the room exploded with blue light.

The Stormtroopers were thrown backwards, with a hail of broken pieces from the lab tables and cabinets, arcing around Boba as though he was encased in a shield. Din shot Gideon the moment Gideon’s head turned towards the explosion of sound, and Nivenkan had gone still, his eyes huge and fixed on Cade.

“It worked,” he said, sounded giddy with excitement, all the death in front of him and he sounded _thrilled_ – Boba dove across the lab table and grabbed the child from his arms, snatched Gideon’s fallen blaster and shot Nivenkan without hesitation.

“Lab B,” Cade whimpered, turned towards Din, and Din barely caught him before he crumpled. Hax was crowding in immediately, as Din hoisted Cade into his arms, Cade starting to sob and curl into Din’s chest, shaking.

“What’s wrong with him?!” Hax clung to Din’s arm, “Cade?!” The alarms wailed overhead, and Din heard Cara’s voice coming from the comlink again.

“Empire ship incoming,” she said, “You guys getting out of there?”

“We’re coming,” Din replied. “Transport ship?” He looked up to find Boba, and he was across the lab table, head bent over the child, rocking it gently. He was fine, they were both fine, they were okay.

“Ready to leave. Clones all on it.”

“Do we get to go with our brothers?” Hax asked, eyes huge. Cade shook his head, looked up at Din with a pained panic on his face.

“I can’t,” he whispered, “I can’t, I can’t. It didn’t work on them, it just – only me.”

Cade was right, Din realized with alarm. The other clones – they would be safe. If it hadn’t worked on them, if they were showing no signs of Force sensitivity, they were replaceable, to the Empire. They didn’t matter to the Empire, not like Cade did, and how could Din ever find everywhere that reports of his successful trials had gone? He could never eradicate it. The Empire knew this child held the key to successfully creating a Force-sensitive clone army. Even if Gideon was dead, even if they burned the lab to the ground and finally destroyed the original genetic material they’d been using – Cade was the living key.

“Tell them to take off,” Din told Cara, “We’re leaving.”

“Crest is outside,” Cara reported, “You guys really okay?”

“Fine,” Din said, but everything felt unsteady, unbalanced, the end abrupt and leaving him shaken. Boba approached, the child cradled in his arms, but there was a wariness that broke Din’s heart. _He’s just a child,_ Din wanted to tell Boba, because Cade was shaking in his arms and sobbing in pain and he may have been a Force-sensitive clone, but he was a _child._

“Let’s get out,” Boba said, voice unsteady.

 _“Werlaara,”_ Din murmured. His heart was still racing, even with Gideon dead, even with the child safe in Boba’s arms, even with Boba safe with him and not actually being taken into a lab, reduced to what he’d always been afraid of –

The sirens screamed, as they made their way up to the entrance; everything set Din’s nerves on edge. It was fine, it was _over,_ but how was this the way it ended? They had their child, but the proof of what had been done to the clones was clawing at Din, ripping him apart. Was this how it had felt, for the Mandalorian that had saved Din? Saving a child from a burning village, still having to walk past the death and bodies, unable to shake what had almost happened, what he’d almost been too late to prevent?

Finally aboard his ship, Din could at least put distance between them and the lab. Even with Boba safe, with the three kids onboard the ship, Din still thought he might shake apart if he had to be this close to the lab.

“Transport ship’s out,” Cara reported, once Din was in the cockpit, “They’re bringing the lab personnel, too, and Luke’s en-route with the TIE fighters.”

“Can they destroy the place?” Din asked. His hands felt unsteady, as he flipped switches, brought the ship off the planet surface, finally started feeling further away – never far away enough, but – further, at least.

“Easy.”

“Good. Can you tell them to have a medbay ready? I want the kids checked out.” They would hate it, Din knew, but he’d figure that out later. Whatever the Empire had been doing to them, Din was sure they wouldn’t have cared about long-term effects, about why Cade pleaded that they keep Hax safe from what had resulted in his own genes. 

Only once the facility was out of view did Din’s heart stop beating overly quickly. He took off his helmet, ran his hands through his hair and tried to breathe, remind himself that somehow, miraculously, everyone was fine. Except the kids they’d been too late to save. Except the Stormtroopers who may as well have been clones for how little choice they’d had. Except Cade, who was in agony because what had been done to him still lived in his cells. Saving a foundling hadn’t stopped the village from burning, hadn’t saved the child from watching his home be attacked, his family killed.

Din left the cockpit, and at least the sight of them, here, safe, made it a little easier to breathe. Boba had the child tucked against his chest, the child’s ears twitching as it came out of whatever sedation they’d given it. Cade was curled on the bed and Hax knelt on the floor beside the bed, eyes fixed on his brother.

“Hey,” Din said softly, reached to touch the child’s back. It murmured sleepy, happy sounds.

“Little one’s fine,” Boba said, like he still couldn’t believe it. “Completely fine. Not even freaked out.” Din nodded, and he couldn’t stop himself from touching Boba’s face, tracing his thumb along Boba’s jaw. Boba had told Din to _leave_ him, had loved their child so much that he was ready to submit to his greatest nightmare, the thing that had plagued him all his life. He looked so tired, and Din wanted to hold him again, promise that somehow, he was going to keep Boba safe from this, that if he had nightmares about being back in that lab, Din would be there every time he woke up.

“Maybe it knew we were coming.” Din leaned down to kiss the top of the child’s head, to more happy coos. He went to sit on the floor beside Hax, who watched him with worried eyes.

Hax was afraid they’d be split up, Din could see it on his face; he understood that Cade was different from him, was the one that the Empire would always hunt for, and he wanted to stay with Cade throughout it. He hadn’t been afraid, in the labs, in the face of Gideon and Nivenkan and all their syringes and genetic treatments – only now.

They would be okay, though, Din would make sure of it – whatever happened to them, they were his, and he would make sure they were okay, needed them both to know it. Din looked at Hax, and he promised, in the only way Hax could understand, promised the only thing that mattered to him.

“You’ll stay together,” Din said; Hax had the exact same smile as Boba. They may have needed to be rescued from a horrifying, nightmarish place, there may have been losses and tragedy and rescuing foundlings meant facing the worst and somehow still having hope for the afterwards, but now – they were safe. Din and Boba had saved them, they were hurting but they were safe.

Clan of five, Din thought, and his finally-calm heart confirmed it.


	28. Chapter 28

D’Qar almost felt like a familiar place; it wasn’t a feeling Din had experienced often, returning to a planet where people were waiting for him. Leia had given them directions to an entrance on another side of the base, in a part of the forest with even taller trees and running water somewhere nearby.

“Surprised she doesn’t want us to present in front of a bunch of generals,” Boba said, as Din landed the ship in a clearing almost too small for the ship. “Thought she’d have had to hand this off to someone higher up.”

“I think she did,” Din admitted. “But as far as they know, all the clones are on the transport ship they sent to a different base, and we didn’t come back here.”

“Ba,” the child added, nodding emphatically in Boba’s arms. It was right, technically; Boba was the reason their involvement was being kept less publicized. Leia didn’t want to risk the Resistance finding out he’d been one of her main points of contact.

“We’ll tell her everything we saw, and she’ll get it to the right people.” He sat back from the control panel, turned towards Boba. He looked better, with the child back in his arms, but Din wasn’t about to make the same mistake again, thinking he wasn’t still hurt in the aftermath. “That almost… almost went really badly,” Din said softly. Boba’s eyes darkened with something like fear, shoulders slumping just a fraction. Din held out a hand, and Boba moved closer, sank down to sit on the edge of the seat, pressed close to Din.

“Almost,” Boba said, but it was written on his face, that he’d thought about nothing else since leaving. He’d almost been lost, spent forty years avoiding anything to do with the clones only to end up back in a cloning facility, where he’d almost had to stay. “You were supposed to take the kid and leave me.”

“I know.” Din touched the child’s tiny hand where it grasped Boba’s shirt. He’d known what the Mandalorians would have wanted him to do, that saving a child was worth any sacrifice, but in that moment, Din had been unable to do it. He would die for the child in a heartbeat, but leaving Boba – that had felt so much harder. Even to save the child – how _could he?_ Maybe it made Din a less-than-good person, but he was incapable of leaving Boba, no matter the greater good. “I don’t know what that makes me.”

“Mine?” Boba’s voice was so very soft, and maybe that was all it had to mean. That before anything else, Din was Boba’s. Before he was anyone else’s, he was Boba’s. That didn’t feel like a bad thing, Din thought. He leaned in to kiss Boba, and even that drew a small whimper.

“That’s true.”

They met Leia at the entrance to the base, and Din watched her study them as they approached – the child in Boba’s arms, Hax and Cade following Din closely, and just as before, Boba himself, who she still regarded with puzzlement.

“I’m glad you guys are alright,” she said, “You’ve – well. You’ve done a really big thing, here.” She leaned slightly, to see around Din. “Hey there.” Her voice softened. Din felt a hand on his arm, one of the boys clinging. “My name’s Leia.”

“Hi,” one of them said from behind Din. Hax, surely. Cade would be the one holding on to Din.

“Are all our brothers okay?” Cade added in a small voice.

“Absolutely. We took them to one of our other bases, one that handles more civilian aid programs.” The Resistance would be working to get them citizenship, help them establish lives somewhere they could live normally; Din had never met any of them, but knowing they were safe had felt necessary, like something he needed to keep going. Leia didn’t ask if the two would want to join them; she’d reached the same conclusion as Cade. If there was any clone the Empire would come for, it was Cade. If anyone ever reopened his file, if they ever rebuilt a cloning facility, he would be the first thing they wanted.

“Shall we get going?” Leia turned to the keypad hidden on the small hillside wall, and the door slid open. She beckoned them through, and when Din followed, Cade’s hand remained on his elbow. Beside him, Boba was murmuring to the child, sounded like he was narrating as the child looked around, ears twitching with interest.

“They’re the good guys,” Boba was telling it, “So you don’t have to worry. We’ll just tell her what happened, and go home.” The child hummed in agreement, put its head down on Boba’s shoulder; Din glanced back at the two boys following him. He wished they’d found them earlier, in no small part because then they would have been small enough to hold, to carry in his arms where they would feel safer. That had been the only thing that felt safe, when Din had been saved; being held, feet off the ground and clinging to the man who had saved him, Din had hidden his face against the Mandalorian’s shoulder and amidst all the fear and confusion, felt safe.

Leia brought them to the base’s medical wing, where one of her colleagues joined them, a small droid at her heels.

“We’ll go debrief,” Leia told Din, “and the kids can get checked out?” She addressed Cade and Hax again, “This is Dr. Madari. She’ll just take your vitals, do some basic tests, and we’ll be back by the time she’s done.”

“Okay,” Hax said, but Cade’s grip on Din’s elbow tightened before he let go, stepping forward obediently. _Tests,_ and was there something about Fetts that made Din think they recovered from things quicker than humanly possible? How could he have ever thought he’d send the kids into a medical wing alone?

“Actually,” Din interrupted, “I’ll stay with them. Okay?” he directed the question to Boba, who nodded. Din didn’t relish the thought of leaving him alone with Leia, where they could be joined by Han or Luke, but Boba knew Din would be back, wouldn’t have any doubts about it. The kids were a different story.

“We’ll catch up with you, then,” Leia agreed, and she tilted her head at Boba to indicate he should follow her; she still looked at him a moment too long, clearly still reworking her judgement of him. She’d kept looking between the two kids and him, and the resemblance was obvious, though she didn’t react to it the same way Din would, her clear sympathy for the boys clashing with her dislike of Boba.

“It’s just this way,” Dr. Madari told them, and Cade and Hax waited for Din to follow her before falling into step behind him, so close that Cade stepped on his heel more than once. How could Din have even considered sending them off alone? When he held his hand out behind him, offering, it was immediately grabbed tightly.

“What do you guys do here?” Hax asked, peeking at the doors they passed. They bore only the name _Exam Room_ and a number, no viewing windows.

“Do?” Dr. Madari sounded perplexed. “It’s just a hospital for the Resistance members. Some don’t have the option to go to a medical center, if they have warrants or bounties out for them. We like to have our own facility for their safety.” Her rolling droid beeped cheerfully.

“Oh.” The existence of a medical facility without a purpose seemed to bewilder him. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” Dr. Madari agreed. She ushered them into one of the exam rooms. It should have been reminiscent of the cloning facility, set up for treatment in a similar way, but there were differences that Din hoped the boys were comforted by. The sheets were blue. There was a small plant on the counter. There was a small rolling table awaiting trays of instruments, but someone had written on the surface “do not remove from vaccine lab!!! BELONGS TO EMILIA!!” with angry faces drawn around it. 

Dr. Madari started setting up, the droid rolling after her with a little arm popping up to hold into a tray that she loaded with equipment. “Go ahead and sit on the bed,” she said, opening drawers, “This will be done in no time. We’re going to take your vitals, draw some blood, maybe a CAT scan.” She paused to take a chair from the other corner of the room and slid it beside the bed for Din. Cade and Hax sat on the edge of the bed; Cade didn’t let go of Din’s hand.

She was good; Din could tell, that she’d noticed that the more she talked, the more the boys relaxed. Surely the lab techs would have been silent with them, explaining nothing, leaving the boys in the dark about what was being done to them. Dr. Madari chatted as she worked, prefaced everything with a light “you ready?” before drawing blood or taking a temperature. When everything was done, she didn’t have them wait in the exam room, but left them in her office instead, with its view of a ship repair area. The boys stood at the window, watching the activity below, far more relaxed than they’d been in the exam room. Hax pointed out something below, snickering and bumping Cade’s shoulder with his own.

Dr. Madari knocked before reopening the door, but the boys didn’t notice; apparently one of the repair guys was throwing things into a bin with the flourish of a championship game.

“Maybe we could speak to you first?” Dr. Madari whispered to Din. Din hesitated.

“Yeah, but… I don’t want to leave them by themselves. Can we get, uh.” He wasn’t sure who knew Boba was here, and calling him by name seemed like it could invite trouble. “Their… other dad. He can stay with them?” They were smart, damaged kids; disappearing on them before they heard their own test results, and leaving them alone? Din couldn’t even fathom what terrifying conclusions they would come to. What if they thought the results were bad, and he was leaving them? Or if the results were so medically interesting, they were being left at the facility? They were Fetts, Din reminded himself; they internalized things and held onto them, would hide it until it ruined them.

“No problem.”

Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared with Boba in tow, the child mid-babble as they came into the room. “Wait with the kids?” Din asked, as Boba drifted towards him, watching the boys almost nervously. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Boba sank down onto the couch, eyes on Din. Din couldn’t stop himself; he reached to touch Boba’s cheek, just for a moment, before following Dr. Madari back out of the room.

Din hadn’t been expecting other people to be in the room she brought him to; a doctor behind the desk, and Luke lingering in the corner, and they both watched Din enter the room with interest. Din didn’t feel like a Mandalorian, though, not in that moment, even if they were looking at him and seeing the armor and the history; he felt like the parent of a sick child.

“Are they okay?” he asked, before any of them could say anything.

“Medically, absolutely,” Dr. Madari said immediately. Din exhaled. “They’ll need a treatment to undo some of the damage, but it’s reversible. Very high white blood cell count, which I expect was a result of the retroviral vectors used.”

“It was a fascinating method,” the other doctor added. The nameplate on the desk read M. Shunn, and he looked at home behind the desk, so it must have been his. “They tried to induce Force sensitivity through a retroviral vector. Essentially, they turned it into a virus and injected it, so it could attack the genes and alter them. This has cause their bodies to overproduce white blood cells in response, to try and fight it off, but these cells are often non-functional and increase the risk of infection.”

“But,” Dr. Madari reached over to touch Din’s arm, breaking through the slew of information, “Treatable. Easily.”

“So they’re fine?” Din looked between them, and then to Luke, silently lingering in the corner. His face was more serious than either doctor’s.

“I heard what happened at the facility,” Luke said. “It sounds – well. Have you seen many Force users?”

“Uh. No.”

“What he did doesn’t sound like something an untrained Force user can usually do. It takes a lot of work, to actually _do_ something with the Force, especially intentionally. If the kid has that amount of power, totally unchecked…”

Din didn’t like the look on Luke’s face. Almost like Luke was afraid of what Cade could do, almost like he was expecting Cade to just –

“He didn’t want to hurt everyone,” Din insisted. “Just to stop the Stormtroopers.”

“It takes _years_ to manifest that much power,” Luke said. “And it’s just – just exploding out of him. Like he’s wildly Force sensitive, taking in way more than anyone else, and he doesn’t know how to control it. Someone trained wouldn’t have destroyed everything in the room, and someone _untrained_ wouldn’t have been able to take out multiple guys at once. It would have been smaller.”

“What’re you saying?” Din was starting to feel hot, his heart racing. “He’s _fine._ Right?”

“What was he like, right afterwards?” Luke asked. “What did he do?”

Collapse. Sobbing, shaking in Din’s arms. Din thought he might break apart at the memory.

“He kind of – fell apart. Like he was in pain.”

“I think it’s because he was _made_ to be Force-sensitive,” Luke said, “Like he has no natural inhibitors to moderate it. The Force – it’s everywhere. It’s in everything. And he’s got no ability to keep it out of his head.” Luke’s proposed solution was clear, was the same one he’d had for the child: that Din should hand over his child to strangers.

Already, Din had no idea what to do for the kids; it wasn’t like he could take them bounty hunting, and he had no home base. Just like he hadn’t wanted to give the child to the Jedi to train, he didn’t want to give them Cade, either. The Jedi weren’t – weren’t Din’s own people. He didn’t know them, didn’t trust them. How was he supposed to leave any of his children with them? How was he supposed to leave only _one,_ separated and alone?

“I need to think about it,” Din said, and Dr. Madari squeezed his arm gently in sympathy. “I know this could hurt him, but…” So could being left somewhere alone. So could being abandoned again. So could being dragged across the galaxy while Din tried his best to provide for them in a dangerous profession. So could being given to the Jedi, who Boba clearly had never trusted, who they hadn’t wanted to give the child to, either. Cade was too young for it too, too young to be apart from the family he’d never had and the brother who was all he’d ever known. He was a clone – he’d been through an abnormally accelerated childhood, was never allowed to have a healthy attachment to a parent, and been through far too much already. He was a clone, and that meant he needed to be given the chance to feel loved and cared for, and how could Din trust anyone else to do that?

Dr. Madari ushered Din back into the hallway and towards her own office, but lingered outside the door, looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Hardest part of parenting, isn’t it?” she said, “You think that loving them more than anything means the right decision is always going to be obvious, but it actually just makes it harder.” She smiled though, looking through the small window on the door. “But there’s two of you,” she said, “At least you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

Though deciding where to go next felt like the next biggest obstacle, Din could at least put it off until they’d gotten past the next most imposing: Dr. Madari had sworn up and down that fixing the boys’ white blood cell counts was a non-issue, but Din knew the two boys wouldn’t feel that way. She explained it lightly to them, promising it wouldn’t hurt very much, that they needed to give them a transfusion that could repair their white blood cell production so it wouldn’t continue out of control and cause problems.

“It will be really easy, I promise,” she explained, to the two boys who had gone from giggling in front of the window to looking petrified. “You’ll be in different rooms, but your dads can go with you and stay the entire time.” That perked them up a little; the worry almost dissipated from Hax’s face entirely, and Cade’s frowned lightened just slightly.

“But I can’t help,” Boba whispered to Din, at the back of the room, and he looked just like them, had the same terrified expression. “Not like you.”

“Just hold his hand,” Din said softly, “You’ll comfort him by being there, I promise.” He already knew he’d send Boba with Hax, who would need a little less comforting. “You have a calming presence.”

“No I don’t,” Boba bit his lip, still looked so anxious. Din wanted to kiss him.

“You do,” Din insisted; Boba looked panicky, so Din added, “Take care of my baby for me, okay? You’ll do fine.” He saw it, how Boba looked down at the child in his arms, and it did break Din’s heart a little. “That one,” Din clarified, nodding towards Hax.

“You guys ready?” Dr. Madari asked, and the boys, their very brave boys, nodded.

As soon as Din saw the room, he knew it wasn’t going to be good. A hospital bed, an IV stand, and Cade was clinging to Din’s hand with both of his own. The setup wasn’t mobile enough to put them in the same room to do it, and though they may have wanted to do one and then the other so they could be together for both, Din had nodded when Dr. Madari asked if he wanted it done simultaneously. Most of their fear was fear for each other’s safety, Din knew; if they were side-by-side, it would be reminiscent of the facility, and watching his brother go through it would be worse than having it done to himself, for either boy. Din was sure this was the best way; it almost made him feel like he had parenting instincts.

“Go ahead and hop onto the bed,” Dr. Madari said, and Cade’s eyes were wide as he took it in. “The beds actually all roll, and fit into the lifts,” she added, as she sat on a rolling chair; her instruments were already laid out on the counter, the IV bag already full, but she seemed unhurried. “But they don’t fit through the doorway to the roof. You want to guess how I know that? I have a nurse who likes to take his patients on field trips for fun. The other day, I found them up on the roof, the bed stuck in the doorway. Go figure, right? Patient thought it was hilarious!”

Cade inched towards the bed, let go of Din’s hand long enough to climb on; Din circled to the other side of the bed and pulled up the armchair, taking off his gloves. Cade grabbed for his hand before lying back against the raised head of the bed. He was shaking.

“Here we go,” Dr. Madari opened a cabinet, produced a blanket she unfolded and tucked over Cade; she kept only his right leg exposed, just by the knee, pant leg rolled up. “Look at me, honey,” she said softly, and Cade bit his lip, tears already welled in his eyes. “This is an intraosseous infusion. It goes into your bone, to reach the bone marrow, because that’s where you produce white blood cells from. It’ll hurt a little more than a regular IV, but not much. I’m also going to numb the area. I promise I’m not giving you anything that will hurt you. Can I start with the numbing and placing the needle?”

Cade nodded, breath hitching. He looked helplessly to Din, as Dr. Madari started moving around, administering the anesthetic.

“It’s okay,” Din squeezed Cade’s hand, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Boba’s over in the next room with Hax, watching over him. We’ve got you guys.”

“Here’s the needle,” Dr. Madari narrated softly, “There we go. Can I attach the line to the bag?” Cade’s gaze was fixed on the hanging bag, reminiscent of the IV bags that had waited by each bed in the facility. This, Din had known immediately, would be the worst part. All he could hear was Cade’s voice in his head, begging Din not to let them be taken for part three of the trial.

“Yeah,” Cade whimpered out, though the tears in his eyes were beginning to spill over.

“I know it looks the same, Cade,” Din said, Cade turning pleading eyes to him. “I promise it’s not.”

“All set,” Dr. Madari murmured. Cade didn’t look, kept his face turned away as she stood. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay, honey? You did a great job, and you’re being very brave.”

She slipped out of the room, and when she’d gone, Din unlatched his helmet with his free hand, took it off. “Cade,” he said, Cade hiccupping a sob. “You’ll okay, I promise. Both of you guys.”

“How do I know?” Cade asked, “Boba doesn’t even like clones. How do I know?” Of course he’d noticed. Din thought his heart might be breaking. Of course, of course.

“He wasn’t raised with the rest of them, like you guys were. You know they’re your brothers. He just hasn’t learned that yet,” Din said. “You guys are his clan, now. He’d protect you the same way I would.” Din reached to wipe away the tears on Cade’s cheek, though more quickly replaced them. “Clan Djarin.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me,” Din said. “Din Djarin. And you guys, now.”

“He doesn’t even,” Cade whimpered again. Din didn’t know how to help, what to tell him about it, though he’d have rather had to address that than what came next, anyways. Cade caught sight of the IV bag, Din saw the way he recoiled when he did. “Oh, no,” Cade turned panicked eyes to him, looking from Din to the needle in his shin bone, the tube leading to the IV bag. “Make – make it stop. Please, I can’t, I can’t –” he started sobbing, and all Din could think about was what Luke had said, how Cade had no control over the Force’s impact on him, and what if this caused something? Could it? As scared as Din had been for Cade, it was nothing compared to this. He just wanted Cade to be _okay,_ to be safe and okay.

“Cade,” Din leaned forward, Cade collapsing to sob into his shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re doing so good. I know it’s scary, I know.”

It was the longest hour Din had ever been through. Cade sobbed the entire time, and Din could only hold him and wait for the time to pass, every minute agonizing. It was the way Din had felt when the child had been ripped away from them, the way he’d felt when Boba had been mid-panic attack. Helpless. Someone he loved in the process of being hurt, and Din was helpless to stop it.

At a loss for where to go next, they stayed. Leia had asked Din where they were going and maybe his long pause had told her more than he’d intended, because the next thing he knew, she was telling them about the dorms in the south wing.

“Cara’s staying for a while too,” she’d added, Cara beside her, nodding in agreement; Din was pretty sure she wasn’t staying in the dorms though, given the way she’d looked surprised when Leia mentioned them. Maybe they would be alright, too, Din thought, as they brought his little clan to the south wing, maybe Cara felt like she wasn’t alone in her corner anymore, either.

“This is one of the nice ones,” Leia told Hax, as he watched her enter numbers on the keypad to open the room, “I told them you were dignitaries.”

“We could be,” Hax grinned. “The little guy’s a senator.”

“Oh, I know. I see him at all the senate meetings. I’m a princess, after all,” Leia said, and both Hax and Cade laughed. Cade seemed _fine,_ which was the hardest part, Din thought; he didn’t seem like he was in imminent danger. He’d even bounced back from the terrifying ordeal earlier that day; once the IV bag and needle had been removed after the hour was up, he’d cried for a while longer and then begged to see Hax. Hax, teary but mostly just happy that it was all behind them, had come into the room and that was what had convinced Cade everything was okay: his brother, completely fine. And yet, somehow, Din was supposed to give him away? Send him to people Din didn’t know and didn’t trust, when he was finally doing okay? He was a teenager, but he was also a clone – he’d had less time to emotionally develop, never had a parent he could rely on, and had been born straight into a life of suffering. He needed to be somewhere he felt loved.

There were two small, adjoining rooms. One with a couch that Leia pulled out into a bed, and the other a bedroom. “How’s that?” Leia asked, the boys already climbing onto the bed. “May I be the first to introduce you guys to the holonet?”

“What’re you trying to do, be the favorite aunt?” Cara asked, Leia grinning over at her as she brought up the screen.

It was somehow only early evening, though the day had felt twice as long. After Din said goodbye to Cara nad Leia, he found that Boba had already disappeared into the bedroom. Din checked on the boys and the child, who had wiggled insistently until Boba set it down on the bed as well, and joined Boba in the bedroom. 

He was already in the bed, and didn’t look over as Din shed his armor and climbed onto the mattress behind him. Din slid his hand along Boba’s arm, across his shoulders.

“You did a good job,” he said, because Hax had made it through the ordeal, well enough that Din could already hear him laughing again. Boba turned towards him, and the moment he was back in Din’s arms, it felt like he’d never left, like he never should have.

“It’s hard,” he said, voice muffled by Din’s shoulder. “They look just like I did.” He wasn’t wrong, but he was saying it so _differently_ than Din would. They looked just like Boba, and Din had a fierce need to protect them, to keep them. He couldn’t let any foundlings be forgotten, but these two, who looked so much like the man he loved, they had immediately felt like his own children.

There was something hurt, something almost resentful, in Boba’s voice. Din pressed a kiss to Boba’s hair, tried to think of how to ask.

“What were you like, at their age?” he offered. Boba gave a small shudder, and _oh,_ Din’s heart was already breaking.

“Fucking… ruthless,” Boba said, voice sharp. “So angry. I’d already been bounty hunting for a while and a couple years later, I led the 501st to kill the rest of the clones. By the time I was their age, I was already…” He didn’t come up with a description.

 _“Werlaara,”_ Din murmured. He didn’t know what to do about it, how to fix it, but he could see what was happening, now. Boba saw himself in them, and treating himself with kindness had never come easily to him. The galaxy saw him as a ruthless, unstoppable force and feared him for it, and would they have, if they’d known that he saw himself that way, too? He’d been traumatized by his own grief and anger, unable to forgive himself for being a clone, and now they had two boys who looked just like him, and Boba was seeing himself at that age all over again. He hadn’t liked himself, at that age.

 _How can you look at them and not love them,_ Din couldn’t ask, because he knew the answer, he knew. Boba hadn’t been able to stand himself, back when he was seventeen and burning down in a blaze of hurt and loss, and the boys looked exactly like him. 

“I think the baby’s tired,” Hax’s voice made Din turn towards the doorway. “All cranky and stuff.”

“It’s probably bedtime, then,” Din said, and Boba sat up, slid towards the edge of the bed. Hax headed back into the main room, the child making whining sounds.

“It’s okay, Squil,” Hax said, “it’s bedtime, aren’t you tired?”

Boba tilted his head at Din, who shrugged. Maybe they’d given the child a nickname; it wasn’t like he knew the child’s name, either, and the thought of them calling it something affectionate made warmth glow in Din’s chest. Maybe the child reminded them of one of their lost brothers.

Din followed Boba into the other room, where Boba scooped the child off the bed and rocked it gently, wandering around the room. Din sat on the side of the bed, Hax and Cade both beneath the blankets, looking sleepy. They hadn’t even asked where they’d be going, tomorrow; Din wished he knew, wished it was more obvious, what the right answer was.

In the quiet of the room, he could hear Boba singing to the child, very softly. Din could only catch a few of the words, but there was something odd about them. The song wasn’t familiar, but it _felt_ like it was.

“This is what he did, he went into the forest where it was very dark…” Boba’s head was bent over the child, voice too soft to hear much. Din reached absent-mindedly to stroke Hax’s hair, eliciting a yawn. When Boba wandered closer again, he looked surprised to find that the older boys had fallen asleep to the same lullaby.

“Come on,” Din whispered, and Boba brought the child into the other room, settled it on a bed made by pushing two armchairs together. “I know that song,” Din said, as Boba tucked the child into a cocoon of blankets. Boba looked up at him, and even in the dim light, Din could see him blushing.

“The little warrior,” Boba mumbled. “Fights the monster, but he wasn’t scared because he only thought about protecting everyone. His heart makes him a warrior.” He shrugged a shoulder, returned to the bed. “My father sang it to me. When I was little. I was afraid of the dark.”

“Of course,” Din realized suddenly why it had sounded familiar. For children who were scared of the dark. “It’s Mandalorian.”

“What? No, it’s not.”

“It’s translated into Basic,” Din went to sit beside Boba, “but it’s the Verd’ika lullaby. The little warrior. It’s based on a Mandalorian proverb about how a warrior is more than his armor.”

“Oh.” Boba was very still, distant look on his face.

“Your father must have known it,” Din said softly. Something about it was so terribly sad; Boba, who had been raised so far from the legend he had come from, being sung one of their lullabies anyways. Kept out of their culture, but growing up with these tiny remnants, what his father had salvaged. It had clearly comforted him, and he must have had so few things to do that, after losing his father. Why hadn’t they come for him, the way they had for Din?

Din had been sung the same lullaby. The Mandalorians had rescued him, and in an unfamiliar bed, he’d been sung to sleep. And – if he had to take his child anywhere, if he had to find a safe place for Cade, maybe that could be it. Din was a Mandalorian and so, too, were his children. If they had to go anywhere, maybe they could go home.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!!! thank you so much for all your amazing comments, you are 100% of the reason this fic is actually going to be COMPLETED very very soon!!!! ily!!!!! 
> 
> this is the last actual-chapter, and next is the epilogue. we're almost DONE!!!

The secondary location for the covert was on Andelm IV; no one had questioned it, when they’d put the resources into building an entire second location and left it unused, and Din had known it was because so many of them had the same memories: a burning village, a lost home, a nonexistent secondary place to go. Somehow, they could share a past they hadn’t shared at all.

It was supposed to feel like an easy decision, but he found himself explaining it to Boba again, for quite possibly the third time, though Boba had yet to put up any resistance at all.

“We just need something stable,” Din said, hands flickering across the control panel, though the landing was already programmed in. “Somewhere we can leave _from,_ right? The kids need stability, after everything they’ve been through. Somewhere they can stay, where we can come back to.”

“Yeah,” Boba sat in the passenger seat, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed. He didn’t sound _unconvinced,_ exactly. Din didn’t know why he kept feeling compelled to convince Boba, who kept agreeing with him. “And we… can still take jobs. Together,” his voice dipped, almost sounding like a question.

“You’ll be lucky if I ever let you leave my sight again,” Din said, to a little chuckle from Boba that mostly just sounded delighted. “And the kids need to be able to have friends.”

“They’re going to make friends with Mandalorians?”

“There’ll be kids their age,” Din promised. He was still worried about Cade, but what was he supposed to do? Split them up? Give him to someone who _didn’t_ want him? The only thing Din could come up with was to hope that the type of training he’d done as a Mandalorian would be enough, that maybe the process could be applied to controlling the Force, too. Din didn’t know, was _frantic_ with the need to know _._ He just desperately didn’t want to do anything wrong.

The covert was tucked beneath a busier city, this time. The port opened onto a bustling street, packed with people and surrounded by tall buildings. No one paid them any attention; at least there was that, Din reminded himself, this was a city where even a Mandalorian barely warranted a passing glance. Boba still caught a few startled looks, but there probably wasn’t a planet in the galaxy where that wouldn’t happen, as much as Din would have wanted to find it, to find him a home far enough away.

As they made their way through the crowd, Din felt a hand at his elbow, and he slowed, patted Cade’s hand gently.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, “It’ll be less crowded there.” Cade blinked big brown eyes up at him; same long lashes as Boba, same freckles on his nose. Din’s heart twisted every time he saw the freckles. He just wanted to be doing the right thing, why did it have to be so hard to figure out what that was? He just wanted their kids to be safe, wanted Cade safe from the invisible battle with the Force he’d been made to undergo.

“Stay close, it’s okay,” he added, and Cade pressed closer immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. On Din’s other side, Hax followed them with the child in his arms, cheerily narrating to the child, though most of his observations were that he didn’t know what something was. Din kept finding himself wondering about the other kids in their – their batch, their little sibling group, how they’d filled out the complete picture. Cade shouldering the worry, Hax uplifting them, and what about the other two? He knew now, that there had been four of them – Cade, Hax, Tellan, and Squil, knew he’d been in time to save two, and too late for two. Somehow, the two boys who had been lost still felt like his, children he personally had failed, and he could see their missing shapes within his two kids. Neither of his boys were particularly interested in asking questions, both more likely to withstand than to fight, neither prone to looking to the distant future, and maybe their two brothers had filled in some of those spots for them. Din didn’t know.

The covert was down an alleyway, through a grate, down two flights of stairs. It was almost familiar, with how similarly it had been constructed, but Din’s heart started racing as they made their way downward. He didn’t know who had made it off of Nevarro, who had survived, what would still exist. It was to lose a home over and over again, through the constant losses the Mandalorians suffered, but even this – even this was better than never having a home to begin with. At least here, it felt a little bit like home, to him.

They passed no one, but the clanging sounds of a forge drew him in closer, hurrying towards the echo of it. And despite never knowing her face, from the moment Din saw the figure in the room, he knew it was the Armorer. She’d survived, of course she’d survived, he was so relieved she’d survived.

“You’ve returned to us,” she said, voice warm. She set down the tools she’d been holding so she could move closer, tilted her head when she noticed Cade, pressed close to Din’s side. Din looked back for Boba and Hax, but heard a voice echo from down the corridor before he could spot them.

“You think you can show your face here, too?” a voice thundered from down the hallway. Din recognized the voice; the Mandalorian who had told Din that Boba was a traitor to the Mandalorians, that he’d chosen to join the legacy of the Empire instead. Who had been among those that came to rescue them from the Guild. “You’re lucky we didn’t know you’d already turned on him. Should have let the Guild kill you.”

“I didn’t turn on him!” Boba snarled, voice echoing in the tunnel. “He’s _here,_ he’s fine!”

“It’s always just a matter of time, with you.” The voice drew closer, the Mandalorian storming down the hallway. He towered in the doorway, and he studied Din and Cade in silence for a too-long moment.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Din started, tried to sound placating but couldn’t seem to chase the taut anger from his voice. Cade’s grip on his arm had tightened, and all Din could feel was an angry hurt, because how could a Mandalorian do this? To the man who was _his?_ Boba may not have been a Mandalorian, but he was _Din’s._ Boba stalked into the room, shoulders back and a defiant tilt to his chin, but to Din, the insecurity radiated off him. He didn’t like being here, didn’t want to be here. Hax trailed after him, crept close to Cade.

“Who have you brought here?” The Armorer asked, and though it was gentle, it wasn’t quite the same voice she’d used when she’d seen the child. _They’re the same,_ Din wanted to insist, his two foundlings just like his first, just kids they’d found orphaned and alone and needing a safe home.

“Our foundlings,” Din said. “The Empire –”

“Made them,” the other Mandalorian spat. “They’re Fett clones, look at them.” He circled the room to loom beside the Armorer, arms crossed, huge beside her.

 _“Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la,”_ the Armorer said, voice stern – _nobody cares who your father was, only the father you’ll be,_ but the Mandalorian gave a derisive scoff.

“They’re not his children, they’re his clones.”

“If you’re going to get pedantic about it,” Boba interrupted, snide, “They’re not _my_ clones. I’m not the fucking original.”

“Oh, even better. Like the galaxy needed two more of you. You’re worse than your father was.”

“They’re foundlings,” Din interrupted. “What kind of Mandalorian are you, if you don’t accept foundlings?” This didn’t feel right, it wasn’t supposed to make him feel like this, defensive, protective, wanting to shield them from his _own people._ This wasn’t how it felt when they’d found him, decades ago, but – he’d just been a lost child, no history at all that anyone knew. Giving him a blank slate would have been easy, when he had nothing to erase.

“Is it true?” The Armorer asked, “The Empire is producing clones again?”

“They’ve been stopped,” Din said. “It’s what they wanted the child for, to manipulate their army’s genetics to be Force-sensitive. It’s over, now.”

“You wish to stay at the covert,” the Armorer said, and Din was reluctant to nod, with the other Mandalorian staring him down. With the boys and Boba watching him argue for them to stay somewhere that this was happening. _They’re mine,_ Din wanted to protest, his foundlings were an extension of himself, and the Mandalorians keeping them at arm’s length was _wrong._

“We need somewhere safe,” was all Din could admit. He suddenly couldn’t call it a home. Not when his kids were clinging to him, thoroughly intimidated, not when it was going so _wrong._

“The children of a Mandalorian,” the Armorer said deliberately, “are Mandalorians themselves.” The Mandalorian beside her snorted.

“They’re not foundlings, they’re _clones_ of a _dar’manda,”_ he said, and – and he wouldn’t be the only one. The Armorer was willing to look past the history that had produced Cade and Hax, but others wouldn’t. Others would be like this Mandalorian, would see only what Boba had done, what his father had done. A man’s father didn’t matter, it seemed, unless he was a Fett, unless that original betrayal had been copied into their identical DNA. Din slid his arm around Cade, let Cade press his face into his shoulder. The child gave concerned noises in Hax’s arms, almost like tiny growls.

Everything in the room sort of – wobbled, slightly, rattling on the shelves, and Din felt Cade’s hold on him tighten as he struggled not to react. This was a terrible idea, this was maybe even dangerous, because he could _feel_ it, the wave of unhappy energy from Cade – the Mandalorian looked around in suspicious concern, back at them.

“Go ahead and stay,” the Mandalorian sneered, “But they’re Fett clones. They’ll never be Mandalorians.” One of the kids whimpered, and for once, Din wasn’t sure which, because both looked near tears.

“They’re _not me,_ asshole,” Boba’s voice was loud, snarling, and even Din flinched at the sudden fury, “But they are my fucking kids, and I’m not about to let some Mandalorians treat them like this. They’re not _him,_ they’re not _me,_ and you know what? I wasn’t him, either. None of us are the dara’mana-fucking whatever, being clones doesn’t make us _him._ ” He turned towards the Armorer, took a breath that only Din could hear shake, “Thank you for offering. But they can’t – they’re not going to grow up feeling like they’re not good enough to be Mandalorians. They’re my children, and they can’t be somewhere they’re treated like clones.”

They couldn’t stay. How hadn’t Din seen that? They weren’t just his kids, they were Boba’s; as much as he’d shied away from them, it was suddenly apparent that Boba would never be able to watch this happen. Watching them enter a life so similar to his own, a life of rejection from the Mandalorians – it must have suddenly become clear to Boba, too, that they were his sons as well. They came from his legacy, and they needed to be somewhere they wouldn’t be imprisoned by it. The towering Mandalorian was leaving the room but there were so many others like him, others they would encounter at every turn, who would give the two boys a repeat of Boba’s childhood, and he was finally seeing that he hadn’t deserved it, that Cade and Hax wouldn’t, either.

Boba looked to Din, and when Din nodded, he could see the way Boba’s shoulders relaxed, heard his exhale of relief. Din watched as Boba collected the kids and urged them down the hallway and they went eagerly, because maybe it was genetic, the anxiety the covert kicked up in Boba.

“Your clan will always be welcome here,” the Armorer told Din when he hesitated, and the words made his heart sink because he knew, he knew, it wasn’t true the way he’d thought it would be. This didn’t quite feel like his home anymore, not when his children felt nervously unsettled here, not when the man he loved wasn’t welcome and never had been. This had been part of what made Boba the way he was, the Mandalorians part of his past only in their pointed absence, their refusal to save him.

“It’s not just mine,” Din said, and he retraced their steps out of the covert, looked back as he left like some part of him kept expecting it to feel like leaving behind something familiar, but it never did. The only thing that felt familiar was the sight of Boba in the alleyway, the two boys huddled together, the child wiggling its ears when it saw Din approach.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Din murmured, and Boba tugged him closer, tilted his helmet to Din’s.

“You wanted to go home,” Boba said, and all Din could do was nod, helpless. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Although it was, but not in a way Din could ever blame him for. Could there ever be a blank slate for anyone, did they _need_ one? Boba was himself because of what he’d done. It wasn’t all good, but it had been his choice, a reaction to a violent beginning and inescapable lostness, and it was something he desperately wanted their kids to be free from. And this was what it had taken – seeing Cade and Hax being treated like he’d always been, feeling protective over them because they didn’t deserve to suffer for it. Boba hadn’t deserved it, either.

“It’s because of us,” Cade said; he didn’t lift his head, gaze fixed on the child in Hax’s arms, the child clutching Cade’s finger in its hand, cooing. “Why don’t they want us?” The only saving grace was that he didn’t sound outright hurt; at the very least, he knew that they hadn’t done anything. Maybe that made it worse in a different way, Din didn’t know anymore. Was it worse this way, to be met with a rejection they didn’t understand? Or worse to have contributed to the reason for it and understand it all too well?

“My father was exiled from the Mandalorians,” Boba said, “And I’ve only ever made that reputation worse, so it’s not really you guys. It’s everything that came before you. People treat cloning like… like it’s not a new generation, just a repeat of the original. But no matter what they try and tell you, you’re not Jango, and you’re not me.”

_You’re not a bad thing,_ Din wanted to tell Boba, but he thought Boba might be starting to believe it anyways. When Boba looked at him, Din wished helplessly that he had a plan, that he knew where to go next. This was it, though; Din had gone home. Had tried to recreate his own rescue, but it had felt like discovering that Boba didn’t speak Mando’a: a bridge suddenly disappearing beneath his feet, the connection he’d seen no more than a mirage. Felt like when he’d realized the true, crushing weight of Boba’s legacy: suddenly understanding a web of implications only once he was firmly ensnared in them. He’d been drawn to find Boba on Mustafar because he’d thought he’d find an answer about what made each of them Mandalorians

“Don’t worry,” Boba told the boys, but he also set a hand on Din’s lower back, to reassure him, too. “There’s another plan.”

As far as Din knew, this was the only plan they’d had. This was all _he_ had ever had. There was no other home to go back to: staying with the Mandalorians was wrong for his children and their complicated history, his burned-down village was on a planet he would no longer recognize, and Boba’s home planet had never wanted him in the first place. Somehow, Boba had been both imprisoned by his father’s history and set adrift from it with no home and no past of his own, and now there was Cade and Hax, repeating the same story. Din wondered briefly, painfully, if they’d have been better off staying with the rest of the rescued survivors; set free with no knowledge of the past they came from and not trying to fit into the places they weren’t wanted. The easiest life for them would have been one where they weren’t being raised by a Mandalorian and the son of a dar’manda.

Except – except that they seemed _okay._ As they left the alleyway and went to find the kids something to eat, the boys were in high spirits, unburdened by the rejection they’d just faced.

“See! It’s that face,” Hax was saying, as the child wiggled its ears and pointed at a hovercart across the street. “Right?”

“No kidding,” Cade agreed. “Remember when he’d keep interrupting Fole, so he’d have to give a whole big description before everything, just to answer all his questions ahead of time?”

“’Before I start, it was not raining, there were five of us there, we were doing surveillance reports, I saw no birds, and nothing tried to kill me,’” Hax mimicked, barely able to stop himself from laughing as he talked.

“And Squil goes –”

“’But was it _fun?’”_ Cade burst out laughing. The child chirped in agreement, always wanting to be in on a joke, as Hax laughed too. When Din looked over, Boba was watching them too; Din wished he could see Boba’s face, to make sure that he was seeing this as a sign that they were doing the right thing, that it would somehow be okay.

“They always did seem like brothers to each other,” Boba said, very softly. “When I was young, I was so – so jealous. I think they’d have treated me the same, if I’d let them, though.”

“ _Werlaara,”_ Din murmured. Maybe one day, the kids would come back to the Mandalorians, stronger in their own self-identity, and allow themselves to be accepted, knowing that they’d been raised both by a Mandalorian already, and by a man who taught them to define themselves without the weight of a legacy they hadn’t agreed to. If Boba could see that the clones had been his brothers and not a threat of what he could become, maybe he could raise the boys so they wouldn’t have to one day look back and see they’d lost something that should have been theirs. 

Back at the Razor Crest, Boba disappeared into the cockpit to make arrangements and program their flight path; Din stayed below deck, watching Cade, Hax and the child sleep on the bed that was too cramped for three children. The ship was clearly no permanent home for so many kids, but at least the small quarters seemed to comfort them for the time being, during this transition period. They’d stayed on Andelm IV until the late evening, because it had been hard to put a cap on what was somehow a great day for the kids; despite the morning that had wrenched Din’s heart out of his chest, the day had finished with setting the kids loose at a packed market, where they drifted from stall to stall, each filled with food they’d never seen before. Din may not have known what to do overall, but there were enough tiny decisions that were clearly right, and their encouraging results: the child’s delirious happiness at having the two boys, Cade’s increased talkativeness, Hax’s easy laughter, and Boba less hesitant around them, able to see them for who they were and not just reminders of a self he couldn’t forgive.

Once they were well on their way, Din climbed the ladder to the cockpit, found Boba slouched in the captain’s chair, drumming his fingers on the control panel. He tilted his head back when he heard Din approach, like he wanted to be kissed; Din was eager to oblige, leaned down and cupped Boba’s face in both hands, kissed him deeply. Boba whimpered in surprise, though, like maybe he somehow hadn’t known his desire to be kissed was written all over his face.

“So where are we going?” Din asked, sank into the passenger seat but leaned forward with his elbows on his knees; Boba blinked at him, licked his lips.

“Uh.” He sat up a little, still looked mostly lost. “I talked to Luke, because – I think he’s, because Cade –” Boba stopped, ran a hand through his hair and gave Din a look that was surprisingly distressed. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out,” he blurted, “I know you want them to – to feel at home with the Mandalorians. I _wanted_ them to. But what if they’re treated like they’re me? Or like they aren’t even real people, just – just clones?”

“I understand,” Din said, reached to set a hand on Boba’s thigh. “Their relationship to being Mandalorian is going to be different than mine. It’s hard to accept, but – it’s just who they are. They’re not you, but they’re also not me. They don’t have to be raised with Mandalorians to feel like they belong, just raised by one, and that’ll have to be enough.” They had their own circumstances, he couldn’t just recreate his own upbringing for them, because they weren’t lost children of a burned village, they were found children of a cloning facility, and with that came a host of implications and history and needs, and somehow, Din could still help them feel at home in his own culture, but it would take more nuance than he’d realized.

“I’m still teaching them Mandoa,” he added, smiled. Boba’s fingertips touched the back of Din’s hand tentatively, and he shifted, turned towards Din, leaned his shoulder against the chair cushion. Now that Din could perfectly picture him at seventeen, it was even easier to see the lasting hurt he carried, to imagine him being that young and even more alone. He’d _wanted_ this for the kids, Din could suddenly see; he hadn’t wanted to go in there and refuse, he’d wanted them to have a home and to have people. “It doesn’t have to be here,” Din said softly. “And this doesn’t mean they’re going to be alone.”

“You wanted this for them,” Boba said quietly, and Din shook his head.

“I wanted somewhere for all of us. Clan of five, _werlaara,_ and it’s as much yours as it is mine. Where do we go now?”

Boba straightened a little, and some of the unhappiness had been chased from his eyes, Din was relieved to see. “I think Luke was right,” he said, “as unlikely as that sounds. You’ve seen how Cade’s affected by his Force sensitivity. I think he needs to be specifically trained to handle it, so it doesn’t get worse.”

Din nodded along, biting his lip. He suspected it hurt Cade, too, when too much of the Force bled through and overtook him. Even being upset made him struggle to keep a handle on it.

“The Jedi have been rebuilding a temple,” Boba said. “Luke told me where to find it, after I promised not to disintegrate anyone there,” he snorted. “I don’t think he’ll ever like me.”

“Leia does,” Din said, and Boba arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’m serious. She’s warming up to you.”

“Now that I’m not going around imprisoning her boyfriend in carbonite.”

“I’m sure that helps.”

“Luke said the Jedi are probably sorry about what they did,” Boba said abruptly. “Just – _sorry,_ he said. He thinks they’re sorry for murdering my father in front of me. What a weird fucking way to put it.” He sounded lost in it. “They _left_ me there. It’s been more than thirty years, and I’m still angry about what I lost when they killed him, but – I don’t know what I would have been, if he’d lived.”

“I don’t know,” Din said, and he couldn’t picture it either. All the glimpses he’d gotten of Jango Fett through everyone else, though – he didn’t think Boba would have ended up like this. Similar to the way he’d been before, maybe, because his father would have been around to treat him differently from the clones, perpetuating Boba’s desperate need to prove he was deserving of that. More ruthless, maybe. Less lost, but more desperate to prove himself. Never like this, finding his place in Din’s arms and slowly understanding that being a clone didn’t make him less of anything. Never like this.

The Jedi temple was on a planet that Din had never heard of, too removed to be useful to anyone else, what Sorgan would have been if it was at the far reaches of the galaxy in Wild Space instead of tucked in between sought-out planets. No planet, though, was far away enough that Boba would go unrecognized, it seemed, although there was no origin point from which to begin tracking miles, and maybe, Din thought, that was why he could never escape. Boba was at the center point – not his home planet, not a cloning facility, not a battle site. Just him, because he’d been the crux of his own destruction, taken it with him everywhere he went. The Jedi they were meeting knew him, Luke had reported back after telling the Jedi to expect their arrival, though Boba hadn’t questioned how.

“Everyone knows me the same way,” Boba had said, when Din asked why he hadn’t wanted to know, and it had pained Din, that he hadn’t realized that himself. Very few people had an experience of Boba that differed from the rest, and Boba had long since resigned himself to it, this reputation of his own making.

Though the planet appeared to be populated, they’d been instructed to land quite a ways from the nearest town; it was woodsy, and reminded Din of the Resistance base, though less densely forested. The temple itself seemed to be in the process of being expanded, the main building constructed of unweathered stone and several sections they’d flown over still being built.

“Do they know us here?” Cade whispered to Din, as Din lowered the ship’s ramp. Din hesitated. No one knew them, he wanted to protest to the galaxy at large, no one should be meeting them with any preconceived in their mind.

“They’ve been told we’re coming” he said instead, “The Jedi that Luke talked to has met Boba before.”

Cade was too sharp not to take that with all the implications it carried; he nodded, biting his lip. “People don’t know you,” he said, slowly. “But when you’re with him, and us… doesn’t it make things…”

“You’re my clan, now,” Din said softly. “My _alit._ We’re part of each other’s legacies, now.”

_By perpetuating it, he’s chosen to answer for it,_ the other Mandalorian had spat, but couldn’t it be something else? Hadn’t Din changed the course of Boba’s legacy by becoming part of it? The future had changed, because they’d found each other.

“Someone,” Boba’s voice drifted towards them as he neared, the child in his arms; it gleefully waved a ration bar towards Din, one of the spicy ones Boba couldn’t stand. “Wanted to play hide from Daddy, and get inside a cabinet.” The child patted Boba’s cheek as if in apology, though it twittered happily. Boba looked around, arched an eyebrow. “Where’s Hax? Don’t tell me you guys are in on the game, too?”

“I’m coming,” Hax appeared with the child’s blanket in his hands, “He hid his blanket, too.”

“You’ve had a busy morning,” Boba told the child, who giggled. “Okay, can we go?” He looked over at Din, and Din nodded; he wanted to pause, though, to kiss Boba’s face and tell him he’d referred to himself as their father without seemingly realizing it, that the boys’ eyes had lit up at the words. Later, he promised himself.

Boba headed off the ship, still without his helmet; Din couldn’t quite tell if he’d just forgotten about it, or if it was a deliberate choice, didn’t know if pointing it out would made Boba doubt himself if so. As a compromise, he caught up to Boba at the bottom of the ramp, and when Boba looked at him, Din touched Boba’s cheek with his gloved hand, a silent question.

“What’s the point anymore?” Boba said, but it wasn’t as resigned as Din would have expected, “the kids look exactly like I did. Kind of makes the helmet pointless, now.” Din stroked his thumb along Boba’s cheekbone.

“Well,” he said, felt himself blushing slightly beneath his own helmet. “I like getting to see your face. I’ve always liked it.”

“I know,” Boba said, and Din thought that maybe if he’d always known that his expressions were his own, that he looked entirely different from his own clones when he looked at Din like that, maybe he’d never have cared about being a clone at all. Maybe if Din had been there decades ago, if he’d been there to fall in love earlier and tell Boba that his face was perfect, that the way he looked at Din was unlike how anyone else ever could, things would have been different. His father had told him that he was special but that the clones were meaningless; how hadn’t he seen, that each of them was just as unique as Boba?

The Weeqay Jedi who met them at the entrance of the temple immediately recognized Boba, even without the armor. The surprise registered on his face and then morphed into something oddly sorrowful, as his gaze moved from Boba to the two boys. Finally, it rested on the child, and he clasped his hands behind his back, leaned in slightly to get a better look. The child waved.

“I am Sora Bulq,” he said, straightening. “Luke told me you would be coming, and he told me about the little one, here. I haven’t seen one of its kind since –”

“It’s not him,” Boba said flatly. Sora nodded slowly, gaze still scrutinizing, and then he looked to the boys; Din wanted to reach for them, at the way they both shrank back slightly.

“What are your names?” he asked, and Din blinked in surprise at the gentleness.

“Hax. My brother’s Cade.”

“We’ve been expecting you,” Sora said, “Luke tells me you have a strong connection to the Force.” He looked right at Cade when he said it; could he sense it, somehow? Din had gone his entire life without knowing about the Force and still couldn’t quite believe its invisible, undetectable existence, and yet the proof of it kept appearing.

He led them inside the temple, and for a moment, Din felt like he was being toured around the cloning facility again, following a man he didn’t know with Boba silent at his side. The long corridor was quiet, though its stone and warm lighting differed from the facility’s cold sterility. When the wall on their right opened up to windows, Din flinched at the sight, half-expecting a lab to loom below, but the window just overlooked a courtyard. Two robed Jedi were speaking together, and three children were sprawled on the grass by the bushes. Din’s heart rate picked up slightly, some part of him still seeing the three boys lying in hospital beds –one of the kids sprang up, and the other two crowded close to look into his cupped hands. Din turned away again; maybe he’d never be able to see groups of three kids, of four, without thinking of the ones he hadn’t managed to save.

The feeling started to slip away only once they began passing populated areas – a training room, a kitchen, voices spilling through open doors. In the second training room, Din peered in and saw a woman demonstrating movements with a staff for two young girls who watched her rapturously.

“Here we are,” Sora said, and Din saw the flicker of anxiousness on Boba’s face, like maybe he was remembering the facility, too. There was no lab, no hospital-like hallway. Sora led them into a large room filled with bookshelves, one entire wall a window with a view of the same courtyard; by the window, a low table surrounded by cushions had been set up with a meal, and he gestured towards it. “You can have lunch while I talk to your parents?” he suggested to the boys, with only the briefest pause before _parents._ Both nodded eagerly, and Hax looked to Boba, the child already reaching for him expectantly.

“I’ll take Squil,” Hax offered, and the child practically dived into his arms when Boba started to pass it over to Hax. Sora didn’t lead Din and Boba far away, only to the other side of the room, to a corner filled with bookshelves and a small table.

“I understand this is a unique situation,” Sora said, “Luke filled me in on the details he knew. He didn’t know the extent of Cade’s Force sensitivity, but he knew it was unusual.”

“He seems… very sensitive to it,” Din said, unsure how to quantify something he barely understood. Boba crossed his arms over his chest, one knee bouncing nervously.

“They fucked with the clones’ genes to try and make them Force sensitive,” Boba explained, “They didn’t seem to know how to do it right. He doesn’t have much control over it, and it hurts him to use it. Luke’s right about it being an unusual amount of power, and not much ability to stop it. Other Jedi I’ve seen don’t seem as affected by using it, either.”

“I understand that your previous encounters with the Jedi were…” Sora didn’t seem able to come up with a word. Oddly, it made Din like him, that he couldn’t sum it up in a single word, that he hadn’t prepared what to say like a memorized speech. “I was on Genosis,” he told Boba, voice quiet, almost apologetic. “I knew Master Windu.” Boba sat up straighter, crossed his arms tighter. Din slid a hand onto his thigh beneath the table. “I knew Jango had a son,” Sora went on, and there was a deeper sorrow on his face than Din had been expecting, than Boba usually received. Maybe because he’d been there when Boba was young, that he saw who Boba was before he became what he’d become. “When I heard what Mace had done, I did wonder what had become of Jango’s son.”

“Did you,” Boba snapped, “Wonder. Very useful.”

“We failed you,” Sora said, his voice grave. “The Clone Wars were a time of atrocities, and one of them was how the Jedi murdered a child’s father in front of him. I know you have no reason to trust us now, but I do want you to know that… well.” He set his hands flat on the table, seemed at a loss for words again. “How can you apologize for one of your own murdering a child’s father? It changed the course of your life.”

_Changed you,_ he didn’t say, but the whole galaxy could see it, had been watching it happen for decades. Din had never known who caused the attack on his own village, why droids had been set upon them; his family was a small casualty of a small loss, on the galaxy-wide scale. Would it have become known, if he’d become what Boba had? If he’d never been found, if he’d been forced to continue his life alone, could he have caused the same galaxy-wide disturbance and made his family’s murder become someone’s greatest regret?

“I’d have been a different person, if he’d lived,” was all Boba said. He slid his hand over Din’s, squeezed gently. “There are a lot of places that won’t accept them, because they’re Fett clones,” he said, tipping his head slightly towards the kids across the room. “But they’re not – not me. I’m the way I am because of my own choices, and what happened to me. They’re just kids, and they really need to be here.”

“Of course,” Sora said. “I knew many of the clones during the war, all good men. It’s horrifying to think the Empire was cloning again, after seeing how the original clones were treated.” His gaze drifted towards the two boys, and when Din looked, they were talking together and just looked so – so _normal,_ like kids who could be perfectly okay, completely unharmed. “Of course they can stay. Cade can be trained to control his Force sensitivity, and Hax should be as well, in case his potential for Force sensitivity becomes more powerful. And the child, well. It clearly has an innate sensitivity to the Force. It will grow up to be exceptionally powerful.”

“We can’t _leave_ them,” Din blurted out. Sora looked towards him, curiosity on his face. “I know they need to be trained, but – they need to be raised, too.” They’d found all three of the kids, and they needed to _stay_ found; _I know your name as my child,_ went the Mandalorian adoption vow, and Din _felt_ that, that these three children were _theirs,_ that their very names spelled it out as a promise.

“They’re ours,” Boba said, still looking over at the kids, still holding Din’s hand beneath the table. “We’re staying with them.”

“Of course,” Sora said, but there was surprise, on his face, and that alone told Din more than anything else could, about the way Boba’s father had died. Sora had expected Boba to be incapable of this, to have been permanently ruined. He hadn’t seen that Boba’s determination for revenge could ever be redirected, that his desperation for an identity could be put to rest by becoming something new. Boba had been a force upon the galaxy, and no one had ever thought to mourn what Din knew to be a great loss – what could have happened, if he’d known how to use it for good.

Din knew they would be staying, as soon as they told the kids, even before they got the words out; the three of them were happy, were just normal children unburdened by everything that had happened, when they were here. They were staying.

Din felt like he’d been on a journey to find a home ever since losing his first one; it had always been the most authentically Mandalorian thing about him, he thought, a definition through absence, a culture built on a collection of losses, of people who responded to losing everything by finding others who had suffered the same. Maybe that was always why he’d been fascinated by Boba, a seeming-Mandalorian who no one had brought in, who suffered loss alone; Din had wanted to bring him in, this man who had upended the galaxy because it had no place for him.

Their living quarters at the Jedi temple were nowhere Din would have ever expected to end up. On an unknown planet, surrounded by people with invisible powers he couldn’t understand, without a clear path forward, and none of it even the most surprising part. The parts he hadn’t seen coming – the sound of the two teenage boys in the next room, deep in discussion about whether they wanted their beds at opposite ends of the room or along the same wall, the child’s chirping in loud agreement whenever either boy raised a point to consider, how could Din ever have known? How could he have ever hoped to have this much, when he’d started out so aimless?

“So this is it,” Boba said, and when Din turned from the window, Boba was sitting on the side of the bed, watching him. “This is – where we’re staying. This is where we live.” Din went to him, touched Boba’s cheek with a sureness he’d have never dreamed of having when he’d first found Boba. He’d been untouchable, then, unreachable; the freckles on his nose and the lostness on his face had knocked Din’s understanding of him out of alignment.

“It is.”

_I never wanted to deserve something so badly,_ Boba had said, and maybe Din had always understood more than he’d realized, because he always wanted to _deserve_ this. He wanted to provide his kids with a life that would heal them from their beginnings and give them a safe place that was their own; it was different from just wanting a life like this, he’d wanted to deserve it, wanted to feel at home within it.

“You wanted to go home,” Boba said, still looked slightly guilty, but maybe a shade more hopeful now, like he could feel that this was different. Din leaned down and kissed him, and if he’d known Boba wanted him to do that back then, when Din had first found him, Din thought he may have been brave enough to do it. He’d already known he wanted to give Boba everything.

“I am home,” Din said, stroked Boba’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re here, _werlaara._ This is what I was always looking for. _”_

“When you came to find me,” Boba said, soft, and there was a question in it that he didn’t voice. _Did you know?_ he was asking. It had felt like he was always asking that, in the beginning, asking how Din had known to save him, what Din had seen in him that made him seem worth saving.

“It feels like I did. I knew you belonged with me.” He'd known, before he'd ever had the words for it, had felt something he'd thought he would never have - Boba had always felt like home, to him, felt like the place where Din belonged. 

No one would have thought this would be part of Boba’s legend, that what began as _I heard he survived_ would end like this, that he would find Din and save the child the Empire had hunted and save two clones that looked just like he once had. What had Din thought would happen, when he’d gone to Mustafar? He could remember only needing to find Boba, a man he’d never met, a Mandalorian who wasn’t one at all, a need that Din didn’t know how to question. He’d only heard the legend, and something about it had called to him.

The rumors would catch up with them soon, that Boba Fett had been seen with a Mandalorian, helmetless and destroying nothing. They would be saying _I heard he fell in love,_ maybe, because something had made the riotous, ruthless legend change, suddenly take a different path, become something else. Suddenly, it seemed impossible that there was ever a time in Din’s life when he’d heard Boba’s name and not known it like this, not known that Din was going to fall in love with him.

Boba was always supposed to be his, and this was the legend that would spread across the galaxy, the most profound thing Din had ever known. Boba was _his;_ Din had known that beneath everything else, beneath everything that made up a legend, there was still a softness to him, a willingness to be saved and a fragile desire to be loved that Boba had almost convinced himself was pointless. When Din had saved him, the first thing Boba had loved about him was his gentleness, and that it was something Boba still craved despite everything that had happened to him – that was what should have been legendary about him. This was why Din had been the only one to ever save him, why he'd known to look; why, when he'd heard the rumors that Boba Fett had survived, Din had needed to find him. 

Din had needed to bring him home.


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is finally FINISHED!!!! Five months and 114, 000 words later! Thank you so, so much to every single person who commented - you guys made this such a wonderful experience. It's made me so happy to hear that this fic has been a way for so many people to take a break from everything going on, and everyone being so encouraging and involved in the fic gave me something to look forward to throughout this whole pandemic too. I've loved rereading all your comments and talking to everyone about din/boba!!! 
> 
> And now that this fic is finished, I am super excited to start the next fic: this fic again, but from Boba's pov!!!! I CANNOT WAIT. he is VERY SAD, and VERY IN LOVE WITH DIN. If you'd like to be notified when it's posted, you can subscribe to my account on ao3, or check in on tumblr! 
> 
> EDIT: [In Name Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27173332/chapters/66366709) : the boba!pov!!
> 
>   
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://icehot13.tumblr.com/) about din/boba because there is just, never enough of them. I am always ready to yell about this. 
> 
> Thank you guys for a wonderful fic experience, I love you all so much!!! Don't forget to check out the next fic in this collection, boba's POV of The Way Home! Just click the 'next work' at the top of the page.

“And may I also introduce my colleague, the assistant head of the refugee placement team,” Leia said, and Cade held his breath, hands tight on his datapad, waiting for the next part. “Cade Fett.”

The chairman of Canto Bight’s Citizenship and Immigration Services Board didn’t full-on choke, but his eyes widened in near-alarm. As far as reactions went, it wasn’t the worst Cade had seen. That recognition was reserved for a senator he’d met last year on Naboo, who had gone so far as to draw a blaster and had to be convinced Cade wasn’t there to turn him in for a bounty that had been placed on his head in retaliation for his proposed heavy taxes on imports. Apparently, that was what had happened the last time he’d encountered a Fett, ten years ago. He’d explained that, defensively, and still gripping the blaster.

Throughout their meeting, the chairman continued to give Cade nearly-suspicious looks; he wasn’t quite hostile, though, which meant that by the time they finished negotiating for Canto Bight citizenship and protections for the refugees, it was likely that his opinion of Cade would have changed, and that was the only thing Cade hoped for. All in all, Cade had suffered through worse meetings. The Naboo senator had tried to get him ejected from the meeting room, and one committee Cade couldn’t remember the name of had fully stopped the meeting until he’d left. One of the other Naboo senators, though, had been nothing but polite to him; Cade could _feel_ it, though, could feel a seething, furious hatred emanating from her, the Force allowing him to read her hidden feelings with alarming clarity. That was the one that had shaken him the most.

“You have to explain something to me,” Leia said after the meeting, when they were walking back to the spaceport across the city. “Why not use Djarin instead, like Hax? Wouldn’t that be easier for you?”

“Hax just doesn’t want to scare the refugees,” Cade pointed out. Hax had also come to work with the Resistance, in their years after completing the Jedi training, but hadn’t been interested in the policymaking and negotiations. He was better suited to dealing directly with the refugees, where his gentleness and friendly, compassionate demeanor would work for him and not against him. He had a comforting presence not suited to governmental work.

“You scare senators,” Leia said, and Cade snickered. “I’m just curious. I always wondered what my life would have been like if I’d been Leia Skywalker, instead. Luke never deals with diplomats and policies, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.”

“I don’t think Luke would have noticed if anyone _did_ react badly.”

“He’s not great at reading people,” Leia shrugged in agreement. She paused on the sidewalk, people continuing to stream past them; they were so close to the ocean that the air smelled refreshingly like salt, the shore just at the bottom of the hillside.

“I don’t want people finding out later, and thinking I lied to them,” Cade said; below, the waves drew back, surged forward, but from this far away, it seemed like a quiet, peaceful movement. “Some of our brothers have had problems with that, with people realizing later that they’re clones. It’s going to be a long time before people forget everything my dad did.” Sometimes, he thought he might not even understand the full scope of it. Not like Hax, who had deliberately decided not to find out everything. Cade had searched for every single detail he could find. He’d wanted to know everything. Wanted to know the shadow of Jango that Boba had lived under, and then, harder still to hear, what Boba himself had done.

 _Sometimes, a blank slate is more meaningful when you know what you’re allowing him to move past,_ Din had said, when Cade asked if he was making the wrong choice in seeking out the full truth. It was easier, with this much distance between the past and the changed present. Cade often wondered what it would have been like for Din, to meet Boba right at the end of his past life, still close enough to touch the wreckage. It was a distinctly Mandalorian concept, the blank slate; Cade kept finding it to be a culture tailor-made for their situation, but one that had never fully allowed them in. A culture of forgiveness and diaspora and loss, but one reluctant to accept them, the rootless generation of a legacy.

“I’d like to see him again,” Leia said, and Cade looked at her curiously, didn’t try and hide his surprise. In the three years since he’d come to work for the Resistance, she’d expressed polite interest in how his parents were doing, but hadn’t seen either of them in person. Cade had never had them meet him at the Resistance base, always choosing to see them off-planet or going back home. He barely remembered his first time at the base, the day overshadowed by their so recent rescue; mostly, he remembered sobbing in Din’s arms through a medical procedure, and later, falling asleep in a big bed with the softest pillows he’d ever felt, Boba singing softly to Squil to put him to sleep. He remembered, too, how uneasy Boba had been at the base, like he hadn’t wanted to be there, and Cade had assumed it was because of all the people who knew him from before. Leia, especially.

“I thought you don’t like him.”

“I think,” Leia said, thoughtful, “That I don’t really know him. I’d like to, though. Between what Cara hears about him from Din, and from how they raised the two of you, I think a lot has changed.” She paused, and then added, “Well, maybe not changed. Been uncovered, maybe.” 

Somehow, the very next evening, Cade found himself with company on his trip back home. It was strange to be going back with anyone but Hax at his side, and when he’d called Hax to tell him the strange turn of events, Hax had shrugged off Cade’s concerns about it.

“She’s not going there looking for reasons to hate him,” he’d pointed out, “She _wants_ to like him. She’s basically liked him since he showed up as part of Team Orphan Adoption. I wish I could see this,” he’d sighed, “I’ve got a ton going on here, though.”

“I’ll tell you how it goes. You know, once Buir breaks up the fight.”

“Oh, come on. Cara’s practically friends with Dad, even. And Leia’s the _nice_ one,” Hax had said; Cade didn’t tell him _she’s also the one who knew him before,_ because Hax had never wanted to know the details. Cade knew them all; he knew he would be carrying the weight of the past on his shoulders, and he didn’t want it to be shapeless, invisible. He wanted to know everything he held by sharing a history, by being a clone. It was a strange thing, to be a clone; mostly, it meant that written into his DNA was a promise that he would never be alone. Sometimes, he wished that was all it had to mean.

Once they landed on the planet and he led Leia through the temple, towards the section at the back with the living quarters, Cade saw the temple the way Leia must have been seeing it – as a surprising place for Boba Fett to end up.

They’d never moved from their original dwelling; it was on the small side, but Cade had always been grateful for the comforting familiarity. He liked that it felt the same, that coming home now was so similar to coming home after training with the Jedi had been. He knocked on the door every time, though he still had his key; maybe it was ridiculous, but he liked the way it felt to be greeted at the door by either of his parents.

Din was the one who answered the door, and Cade had barely gotten out a “hey, Buir” before he was being pulled into a hug that he leaned into gratefully. Somehow, he never realized how much he missed his parents until he was back home. He’d always been able to sense where they were, through the Force, even from very far away, like the Force gave him a beacon to follow home.

“Boba and Squil will be home soon,” Din told him, stepping back to let them into the entryway. “Nice to see you again, Leia,” he said, and Cade hid a grin at her surprised expression. She owned it though, smiled at Din.

“I thought I’d never know what you looked like,” she said, and Din shrugged a shoulder, ran a hand through his dark hair.

“We’ve had some adjustments to Mandalorian traditions,” he said, a brief summary to a several-years-long process. The beginning had been a struggle that Cade had only really understood once he was a little older, that Din had suffered a sort of exile from the culture that had raised him, and floundered to redefine it for himself. When the Armorer had contacted him to ask him to come see her, there had been a moment when Cade was genuinely afraid he’d leave to rejoin the Mandalorians; the first night Din was gone, Cade had been too anxious to sleep, and Boba had found him sitting out on the balcony at two in the morning.

“He won’t leave us,” Boba had said, without needing to ask what was wrong. “He misses the covert, but he wouldn’t ever want to stay there without us.”

He’d stayed there with Cade, brought a heavy blanket and let Cade curl into his side, sat with him in comforting quiet. Cade had wondered, guiltily, if Boba knew that Cade felt slightly closer to Din and that was why the potential to lose him was so terrifying; Din was just – easier, already warm and overflowing with affection for all three of his kids, and though Hax seemed equally close to Boba and Din, it took Cade longer to understand that Boba loved him just as much as Din did. Din had been easy to read from the beginning, and through the Force, Cade had only ever felt affection, a deep need to keep Cade and his brothers safe, since the very, very beginning. Boba had been different; Cade had received only apprehension, an undercurrent of fear, and it wasn’t until they tried to join the Mandalorians that he’d felt something resembling warmth from Boba. Cade had never known just how much his parents understood his Force sensitivity, if they knew what he could interpret from them; usually, there was a whisper of uncertainty, in everything Boba did. For once, though, Cade couldn’t sense it; it wasn’t there, Boba was just concerned about him, loving, unhesitant with his comforting.

Somehow, Boba had known exactly what to do, known that Cade wanted him to stay, to be held and not talk, and it was the first time Cade had felt like Boba’s son, felt so easily understood by him. By the time Din returned, everything felt like it had shifted slightly, Cade just a little more secure in knowing that he had two parents who both loved him and would both stay. All that ended up happening was the Armorer connecting Din to a group of less-traditional Mandalorians who had split off to become farmers, and he came back happier. Watching him hug each of the three kids hello and then sweep Boba into his arms to croon to him in Mandoa and kiss him, Cade had known it was ridiculous to ever think he’d leave them, that Boba had been completely right, but also that Boba had really understood that Cade’s worry wasn’t a reflection on Din ever realistically leaving them, but born of other things, of a genetic-level anxiety about being abandoned. _I wouldn’t leave you, either,_ he’d been saying, by staying up with Cade all night, murmuring reassurance, _I love you just like he does._

Cade followed Din and Leia into the kitchen, where Din was already boiling water for tea and asking Leia what type she’d like.

“Nothing spicy,” Cade warned, because more often than not, Din’s meter for what people found spicy was wildly inaccurate. “Where’d they go, anyways?”

“Boba’s just picking Squil up from class,” Din said, brought a basket of tea to the table for Leia to pick from. “You may want to avoid these,” Din said, indicating more than half of the basket. Leia smiled.

“Mandalorians,” she said, but chose from that side of the basket anyways. “I hope it’s alright that I wanted to come visit,” she said, as Din moved to the cabinet to take out tea mugs. “Cara updates me on how you’re all doing, but it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen either of you. Of course, I see Cade all the time now, and even Hax on occasion.”

“He wanted to come, but work’s busy.” Cade wandered closer to the kitchen window, looking out at the courtyard far below. “He says hi.”

He heard the front door open almost at the same time he heard a small voice squeal “Caaaaaaade!” Cade headed into the entryway, to find Squil catapulting towards him, Boba still in the entryway taking off his boots.

“Hey, Cade,” he called over, as Squil launched himself into Cade’s arms. “He heard you were coming.”

“We throwed rocks,” Squil reported, throwing his arms around Cade’s neck as Cade hugged him.

“You weren’t _supposed_ to learn to throw rocks,” Boba grumbled, coming closer and leaning in to kiss the top of Cade’s head, giving Squil a stern look.

“Rocks bad?” Squil asked, sounding like he was about to launch into a round of questions. He’d only learned to talk in the last year, and it had been bittersweet to watch a sibling with the same name as the one Cade had lost, enthusiastically asking nonstop questions in the exact same way. Cade still missed Tellan and Squil in a sharp, aching way that snuck up on him, reminding him that there were pieces of his heart entirely missing.

“So Leia’s here?” Boba asked Cade in a low voice, and Cade nodded. “Did she… say why?”

“Just wants to say hi.”

“To Din?”

“To you, mostly.”

“Right.” He frowned slightly. It was always a strange feeling, to know that they could feel differently about the same person, but it was a constant theme in Cade’s life. Boba could feel apprehensive about Leia at the same time as Cade could feel like she was practically a family member. She’d been the one to greet them at the base, after their parents had rescued them from the facility; Cade couldn’t remember much of the earlier part of the day, but he remembered going upstairs later, Leia joking with them about being a princess. He’d burst out laughing when he’d heard, years and years later, that she actually was a princess.

“She’s nice,” Cade said, although he knew perfectly well that wasn’t what worried Boba. They’d only talked about it once, that Cade knew the entirety of Boba’s past. It had been after Cade left home to begin working with the Resistance, after he’d gained access to their database of records as well, learned even more and returned home unable to keep the question off his face.

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll tell you,” Boba had said; it was just them in the kitchen, late, late at night, and Cade hadn’t been able to say anything, both relieved and worried, that Boba knew exactly what he’d wanted to know about. “The Empire asked me to lead an attack on the new clone facility run by the Kaminoans, and I did it. I didn’t see them as my brothers, but I also didn’t see myself as any different from them. My father had always treated me like his son, and treated the clones as expendable, and I’d been just… desperate to find a difference between us. It was still an unforgiveable thing to do. I was angry and alone, and doing anything I could to make a name for myself because I thought that was all I had.”

“But you’re a clone,” Cade had said, nearly pleading, because how hadn’t that been _enough?_ It was the most comforting thing he knew. He was a clone; from the moment he was born, he wasn’t alone. He’d been given three brothers who understood _everything,_ had gone through everything with him. Losing two of them had torn him into pieces, but he still had Hax, they were still together.

“Honey,” Boba had said, so gentle, so apologetic. “I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t meet Din for another twenty years, and it wasn’t until then that I learned it’s not a bad thing.”

Cade had tried to picture it. Being a clone without it meaning that he had brothers, being created and never rescued, being told that there were clones exactly like him but that he was the only one set apart. It had given him nightmares for a while, set him back in his usually well-trained grasp on the Force that was constantly trying to break past his mental barriers. The next time he’d seen Boba, he’d thrown himself into Boba’s arms and clung for a long time, and somehow, Boba had understood.

Cade could hear Leia’s voice in the kitchen, and led the way back over, Squil still in his arms. Leia smiled at the sight of Squil when he waved at her, his ears wiggling with curiosity.

“Look how big you’ve gotten!” she said, “I met you when you were very, very small, I bet you don’t even remember.”

“Oh, no,” Squil chirped, pointing to the tea bag package on the table, “spicy!”

“So I keep hearing,” Leia laughed.

“Well, it’s time for his nap,” Din said, moving around the kitchen table towards them; he stopped to kiss Boba, and a look passed between them before Din touched Boba’s cheek and came to take Squil from Cade. “Say goodnight, Squil.”

“No,” Squil chirped, and Din slipped out of the kitchen, Squil’s happy chatters still audible even after he’d left the room.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you guys again,” Leia said, as Cade pulled out a chair at the table, reaching to take one of the pastries Din had set out on a plate. “There was so much going on, last time.”

“Busy day,” Boba agreed; he inched a kitchen chair back but didn’t sit, smoothed a hand over the top of the chair. “Got the kids, took down the Empire…”

“Cade?” Din’s voice came from the direction of the bedrooms, and Cade pushed his chair back.

“Be right back,” he said, ducked out of the kitchen; he found Din in Squil’s room, where Squil was insisting on saying goodnight to Cade before he’d take his nap. Cade re-tucked him into bed at his pouting request, and said goodnight.

“Oh, good,” Din sighed, when Squil finally close his eyes. They left the room, and Din shut the bedroom door quietly. “How’s it going over there?” 

“Weird,” Cade shrugged. Before he could go on, there were complaining sounds from in the bedroom.

“This might take a while,” Din said, “Go ahead, I’ll come in a bit.” He kissed the top of Cade’s head and then went back into Squil’s room. Cade crept back towards the kitchen, lingered outside the doorway.

“You raised some really wonderful kids,” Leia was saying, “They’ve always reminded me of Luke and me, and what could have happened if our father was more like you.” She’d always seemed to understand his bond with Hax, and Cade thought that being a twin must be a little bit like being a clone; having a companion since birth changed everything, though Cade knew Luke and Leia had been separated as babies, and that – that had reminded him more of Boba, really.

“Would that make him worse than he was?” Boba asked, a little curtly.

“Imagine how different the galaxy would be, if he’d found it within himself to change,” Leia said, her voice incredibly soft against his defensive sharpness. “To one day just… find himself again.”

“I didn’t think I had a self to find,” Boba said, but it was less guarded, this time. “But Din… I’d tried to define myself by what I wasn’t, and Din just… saw what was there. No one had ever tried.”

“I’ve seen how people react to your name,” Leia said, “when Cade introduces himself.” Cade bit his lip, debated going into the kitchen. He hadn’t told his parents that when he’d joined the refugee placement team, he’d started introducing himself differently. He hadn’t known how to approach the subject.

“Finally down,” Din’s voice came from behind him, and Cade jumped a little. “Coming?” Din asked, and Cade nodded, followed him into the kitchen.

Once Din joined them, the discussion turned to lighter topics; Leia already knew from Cara that Din had learned forging from the Armorer and had started a business forging specialty farming tools for the rural planet’s many farms, and that Boba had been teaching hand-to-hand combat to the padawans, but she had questions about it all, and after a couple hours, Cade could have almost forgotten that she wasn’t already friends with both of his dads.

When Din left to get Squil up from his nap, the kitchen was quiet for a long moment. Cade went to poke around in the kitchen cabinets, hoping to find that Din hadn’t put out all of the pastries. “Heard you guys are adopting a kid,” Boba said, and Leia nodded. Cade slowly knelt in front of the open cabinet on the other side of the kitchen island, hoping they’d forget he was there.

“He’s a sweet little boy,” Leia said, running her fingertip along the handle of her mug. “He comes from a… troubled situation.”

“He’s angry, and you’re afraid he’ll be like me,” Boba said, but it wasn’t barbed, wasn’t harsh. Almost sympathetic. “He won’t be.”

“It’s not that,” Leia insisted, “Your children are so compassionate, despite everything they went through, and I just – I want him to still have the ability to be –”

“Soft,” Boba said, and Cade could feel a healed-over hurt emanating from him, a sort of quiet mourning for his past self. “I get it. When you’re exposed to that kind of thing in childhood, it’s easy to think you can’t – can’t be sensitive about things. And not allow yourself to have that, because everything’s been violence and loss, and you think – you think that if you’re vulnerable, to anyone, it opens you up to the same thing happening again.”

“Yes,” Leia said, very softly.

“He’s going to be fine. You guys already love him. That’s what I didn’t have.”

The sound of Din’s approaching footsteps and Squil’s sleepy voice made them lapse into silence; Cade waited until Din came into the kitchen before standing again, and met Din’s curious look with an innocent one.

“We should probably get going,” Cade said, before Din could ask what he’d been doing hiding behind the countertop. “Got a meeting on Monday I still have to prepare for.”

“We’ll walk you guys back out,” Boba said, though Din was the one who took the lead, walking ahead with Leia and giving her the tour of the temple on the way out, Squil helpfully pointing to indicate everything. Cade hung back beside Boba, watching them. The sun was starting to set, and through the many windows, orange light spilled across the corridor. They passed people on the way out, most headed in the opposite direction, going home.

“She told me you’re using my last name now,” Boba said, and Cade shrugged a shoulder. He couldn’t sense any anger or disappointment from Boba, which was a good sign. “I was just surprised you’d prefer it.”

“People will know I’m a clone either way,” Cade said. They were nearing the entrance, and just beyond it, their waiting ship. “And I… I wanted them to know.”

“Yeah?”

Up ahead, Din and Leia had stopped outside the entrance; had it felt like home, the first time Cade had set foot here? He thought that somehow, it had. He hadn’t yet known how to understand what the Force was trying to tell him, but he was sure that he’d felt comforted. Like when Din and Boba had shown up at the facility, and Cade had suddenly felt _hopeful._ Cade paused just outside the temple, glanced at Boba and then away again.

“Everyone knows your name,” Cade said, “And – if enough people hear it as mine, maybe the whole galaxy will start to – to redefine it, maybe. Maybe it can mean something new.” He’d never known how to tell Boba, that he’d started going by Cade Fett; Boba had so much tangled up in his name, and Cade knew he’d spent decades thinking it was the _only_ thing he had. Cade didn’t want to take it from him, but he wanted to change it, wanted to give it back a more fitting name. The way people looked at Cade when they heard it was _wrong._ It wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Boba anymore, either.

“Oh, Cade,” Boba said softly, and then he was pulling Cade into his arms, holding him tightly. Cade breathed a sigh of relief, dropped his head to Boba’s shoulder and clung to him. “I’m so proud of you. I hope that one day, when people hear the name Fett, they just think of you.”

Boba had been a _legend,_ and though it had been a terrible, ruthless legacy, Cade had always thought that it was what saved him, in the end. If it hadn’t been a name known across the galaxy, if Din had never heard the name Boba Fett –

The name _Fett_ would still be legendary; Cade would make sure of that.


End file.
